


Tidings of Comfort and Joy

by pintpotjudas



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: And too much M.R James, Artist Napoleon, Canon-Typical Violence, Christmas, Clueless spies in love, Every English Country House has a ghost, Everyone is in love with Illya, I have read too many Agatha Christie novels, Illya has Low Self Esteem, Log fires, M/M, Mild Language, Mutual Pining, Napoleon is an idiot, Non-Graphic Violence, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Romance, Slow Burn, Snow, There is a ghost, Undercover, cold war politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-11-23 12:42:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11402637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pintpotjudas/pseuds/pintpotjudas
Summary: Napoleon and Illya are sent to deepest, darkest Yorkshire to investigate a rumour that a THRUSH agent is spending Christmas at Castle Bellamy. Their brief is to hide in plain sight amongst other house guests. Napoleon is convinced it will be an almost enjoyable case, provided Illya cheers up, the ghost in his bedroom leaves him alone, and they catch the nefarious agent before anyone winds up dead...





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this at the appropriate time of year, didn't finish it, then the U.K had a massive heatwave so I rediscovered this partly to fantasise about cold weather.

“This is ridiculous.” muttered Illya Kuryakin as he steered the Alfa Romeo 2600 up the very long, gravel covered drive leading towards Castle Bellamy.

The Castle itself was thus far shielded from view by tall pine trees, dusted with a light covering of mid-December snow. The effect was quite charming, as the day's frost had turned the snow a dazzling white, which glittered in the cold clear light. Illya glared at the view, and tightened his gloved hands on the steering wheel.

Napoleon Solo, sitting next to him in the front seat, was conducting a last minute check of their UNCLE mission brief. He looked up from his work and quirked a smile at the Russian.

“Only you, Peril, could act so personally affronted about this job. Having to spend Christmas in a castle as the guest of a Duke is a complete cakewalk, and here you are, fuming.” Napoleon laughed, pushing an errant curl off his forehead and turning back to his reading.

Illya flicked him an irritated glance. “Do not even celebrate Christmas. This is certain to be a ridiculous display of dec-“

“Illya, I told you that I was going to ration your use of the word ‘decadence’. Keep your powder dry until we’ve at least gotten inside.” Napoleon, for one, was looking forward to the predictable log fire, he hadn’t been able to feel his feet properly since leaving London early that morning. It was mid-afternoon by the time they had reached Bellamy Park in frostbitten Yorkshire, and despite cranking the Alfa’s heat up, Napoleon couldn’t chase off the chill. The sun was already dipping low in the sky.

“Could have sent Gaby on mission. Gaby likes Christmas.” Illya pointed out, still griping. They turned a corner, only to be met by yet more snow covered trees and another expanse of gravelled drive. "One man owns all of this. Ridiculous.”

“May I remind you, _Vitaly_ , that you are supposed to have defected and are quite honoured to have this chance to see a proper English country house?” Napoleon replied, a little hurt that Illya would rather be on a mission with Gaby. More than a little hurt, actually, but he wasn’t about to examine those feelings too closely. For the sake of his own sanity.

“Do not worry, _Nathan_ , will not blow cover. Just- it _is_ ridiculous.” Illya insisted.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right. Still, the Duke of Wexford has been very accommodating towards us.” Napoleon pointed out.

Illya raised an eyebrow. “Might have THRUSH agents as houseguests. Is worse than cockroaches.”

Napoleon smiled. “Yes, but he didn’t have to let us stay in the house. We could have masqueraded as staff. And I know, I know, you would have much preferred to have been in the kitchen with the honest proletariat- but this will be easier, you have to agree.”

Illya grunted, which might have been agreement or it might have been annoyance. The end result was the same- Napoleon had won the discussion and he beamed at Illya’s frown. Before Illya could come up with a counterargument the Alfa swung around a final bend and the castle itself finally came into view. Castle Bellamy had originally been a fortification built after the Norman invasion, but only a small part of the keep remained of the actual castle. The remaining structure was a mishmash of centuries of building styles. Napoleon could see medieval mullioned windows, Georgian red brick and even some rather bizarre additions added by those great architectural vandals, the Victorians, including what looked to be a vast glass conservatory stuck onto the side of the house. Still, the place had a pleasant aspect overall, set as it was in a nicely landscaped park, surrounded by yet more magnificent fir trees.

Illya said something distinctly unflattering in Russian and gritted his teeth as he parked the car.

“It won’t be all bad, Illya. I’m… I’m sure this place has a great library.” Napoleon said, trying to placate him.

Illya sighed, gustily. “Alright, let us get this over with.”

Getting out of the car Napoleon could see a small gaggle of people heading out of the front door making their way towards them. He recognised the tall form of the Duke, Hugo Carlton-Bellamy, leading the group, and two footmen. He was a slender man in his early forties, with slightly thinning dark brown hair and pale green eyes. He had a typically aristocratic cut away chin, but he wasn’t unattractive, and was impeccably well dressed as he had been when he’d met Napoleon in London to discuss the addition of UNCLE agents to his house party. The dark grey suit and maroon cravat he had chosen to wear suited him very well.

“Ah, Nathan, how wonderful to see you again!” Carlton-Bellamy declared, holding out his hand as he crunched along the drive.

“Wonderful to see you too, Hugo.” Napoleon smiled the charming grin of his bohemian alter ego, the American artist Nathan Emmanuel Stone, as he stepped forward to meet the Duke.

Carlton-Bellamy smiled back, a rather more significant look than Napoleon’s bland flash of teeth. Clearly Carlton-Bellamy wanted to talk about the mission and soon. Then the Duke looked beyond Napoleon, to where Illya was helping the footmen unload the trunk.

“And this must be Mr Ivanovich, what a pleasure it is to meet you!” Illya smiled and held out his hand, and Napoleon watched as Carlton-Bellamy shook it, taking in Illya’s appearance, from his very large feet to his very handsome face and everything in between. Several of Napoleon’s suspicions about their host were confirmed as Carlton-Bellamy turned pink and seemed to forget how to speak for a moment.

“Please, call me Vitaly.” Illya said, releasing the Duke’s hand.

“Oh, er, yes of course, you must call me, er. Hugo.” Illya nodded and there was an unnatural pause in which Hugo seemed to be getting lost in Illya’s eyes.

“Right, anyway, Nathan, Vitaly, let’s get you chaps inside, much too cold out here and you must be quite tired after your journey.” Hugo gestured for them to follow him into the house. Illya took a deep breath and smiled at Napoleon, one of his rare warm smiles. Napoleon quashed any fluttering in his stomach, and cursed himself for being just as susceptible to Illya’s charms as Hugo.

“Once more unto the breach, cowboy.” Illya murmured, as they crunched up the drive towards the castle.

* * *

 

“I simply hate to think that it could be any of my friends, but I suppose that’s the case with spies, isn’t it? Could be anyone.” Hugo said, taking a sip of tea and leaning back in his chair.

They were sitting in Hugo’s private study, in one of the newer parts of the building, the bay window and the proportions of the room making it feel much lighter and airier than the vaguely oppressive feel of the entrance hall at the front of the house. The dark wooden panelling and the huge oak staircase seemed to soak up all the light, and even the ginormous Christmas tree with its garish decorations and hundreds of twinkling lights did little to alleviate the gloom. Hugo had walked them quickly to the study, stating that the house party had gone for a walk, but would be back before sunset, so they needed to talk whilst they were unlikely to be disturbed.

“Yes, - so no one’s behaved suspiciously since arriving?” Napoleon prompted, wrapping his hands more tightly around his teacup. He’d forgotten that the British aristocracy, having grown up in these giant, leaking, draughty rooms barely seemed to notice the cold. He was freezing and rather regretted taking his coat off.

“No, I’m sorry I can’t be of more help. Everyone just seems normal. And all of the staff have been here years, of course, I would hardly suspect any of them. What even was the nature of the intelligence you received about this?” Hugo asked.

Napoleon and Illya exchanged a glance, and Illya nodded.

“It was a telegram, saying that a THRUSH operative would be staying here before they were dispatched on a mission to ‘maintain appearances’. Now, we do understand that it could be a hoax or a smokescreen but we find with THRUSH it’s better to be safe than sorry.” Napoleon explained.

“Telegram came from Manchester. Does that mean anything to you?” Illya asked, taking a sip of his own tea, the teacup looking like something from a child’s playset in his large hands.

Hugo smiled, regretfully “Apart from it being in Lancashire, Yorkshire’s sworn enemy, I’m afraid not. I only know a few people in Manchester and none of them are attending this house party. I wish I could be more help, chaps, really I do. ”

They finished their tea, and Hugo rang for the head butler, Mr Hawker, to show them up to their rooms. ‘Vitaly’ had been placed in the Red Room, much to Napoleon’s amusement, and ‘Nathan’ was in the adjoining Violet Suite. They followed the man on what turned out to be quite a trek through the vast building. Hawker stopped at the corridor which contained their rooms, and seemed quite eager to go no further.

“If there is nothing else, sirs, I will take my leave.” Declared Hawker, who then promptly left, before either of them could think of anything else for him to do.

“Odd.” Napoleon said, pushing his door open, “See you in a minute.”

“You too.” Illya said, entering his own room.

Napoleon shut the door, and began the standard search for bugs. Of course, the Violet Suite wasn’t like a standard hotel room, what with the four poster bed draped with a purple canopy, huge mahogany wardrobe and tapestries on the wall that were probably woven before the Mayflower sailed. All through his search, which included his own bags, Napoleon had the strangest feeling that he was being watched. Several times he nearly called out for whoever was hiding to come out, and then decided he was being ridiculous. There was nowhere in the room for someone to hide. Napoleon had just begun setting up the easel he’d brought with him, thinking that he could actually indulge in some painting whilst maintaining his cover, when Illya knocked on the door which joined the two rooms together.

“Come in.” he called.

Illya opened the door and walked in, frowning slightly.

“What’s the matter, violet not your colour?” Napoleon asked, adjusting the height of the easel, carefully.

“No- is freezing in here, cowboy, have you not noticed?” Illya replied, rubbing his hands together. Napoleon had, actually, but had just assumed it was as cold as the rest of the house. But if Illya Nickovitch ‘born in a snowdrift (probably)’ Kuryakin could feel it-

“Isn’t your room cold?”

“No, have huge roaring fire…” Illya stared at the fire in the Violet Suite’s fireplace, which was undeniably huge and roaring.

Napoleon had even destroyed the mission brief in the fire moments before. There really was no apparent reason for the room to be so cold.

“Odd.” Napoleon said again, then shrugged. “The windows probably aren’t sealed properly, or there’s a crack in the masonry. I’ll ask for some extra blankets.”

Illya’s eyes darted around the room in a most unsettled manner.“This room is very strange.”

Napoleon rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Did you find anything?” he asked, stepping closer and lowering his voice.

“No, but did not expect to. Should check again later after meeting rest of houseguests.” Illya replied.

“So we’ve ruled out Hugo then?”

“Think so. Did not have us shot immediately, cannot see THRUSH agent letting us stay in house long enough to be seen by witnesses.” Illya said.

“You’re right. So I suppose Vitaly and Nathan have to become flesh. And I have to look like a scruff for a week.” He ran a hand through his hair and pulled a face.

Napoleon had realised early on that if he was to play the part of bohemian artist, wearing his usual array of five hundred dollar suits wasn’t really going to cut it. Illya, pretending to be an ex-Soviet citizen and author, could basically wear his normal clothes, but Napoleon needed to make more of an effort to look the part. He decided to bring a series of loose collared jumpers with him, a few paint spattered shirts and pairs of several denim jeans, along with some more formal clothes for dinner. He brought his white tie, and a dark red velvet jacket, which was the kind of thing he’d like to wear all the time, if his circumstances were different. He’d also decided that he should probably stop slicking his hair back, as he hadn’t met many bohemians who bothered too much with Brylcreem. It had only taken a couple of days for his head to erupt in a riot of dark curls.

“Do not look like a scruff. Hair looks good. Suits you.” Illya said, stepping closer to Napoleon, smiling almost shyly.

“Thanks, Peril, but I look like I’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards.” Napoleon insisted, feeling a light flush suffuse his cheeks. He cursed his pale skin, making his attraction to Illya all the more obvious. But it was hardly just attraction by this point, as much as Napoleon had tried to deny it to himself. His feeling for Illya grew by the day and Napoleon lived suspended between the twin fears that Illya would never see how he felt or that he would, and be disgusted by him.

“Does not. Looks natural. Soft.”Illya gazed down at Napoleon, his eyes unusually warm.

Napoleon knew he was only seeing what he wanted to see, and hearing what he wanted to hear. If he tried to flirt with Illya he’d be met either with bewilderment or a sound punch to the jaw. He took a step back, away from Illya, and started pulling sketchpads and oil paints from his bag.

“Well, let’s hope that the ladies like the soft, natural look, then.” He said, rummaging for no purpose other than to have something to do with his hands.

“Oh, yes.” Illya agreed.

Napoleon risked a glance at him, and saw that Illya looked subdued, obviously Napoleon had imagined the warmth. It was probably just Illya’s eyes reflecting the firelight.

“We should probably go downstairs, be in situ for when the party gets back.” Napoleon pulled a purple paisley silk scarf from his back, and slung it around his neck.

“Yes, you are right. Do I look like defected Russian author?” Illya asked, a small smile on his lips.

“If defected Russian authors look like giants in turtlenecks then yes, yes you do, Peril.” Napoleon replied, and watched as Illya’s smile dimmed a little.

“And what about me, do I look like a dissolute artist?” He asked, giving Illya what he hoped resembled a rakish smile.

“Yes. Yes, you do.” Illya replied, turning and heading for the door, “Come along, let us go face music.”

Napoleon followed after him, resisting the urge to turn around and look for whoever was gazing at his back, as he highly suspected he would see absolutely nothing.

* * *

 

 By the time the party made their return, the sun was setting, turning the sky a beautiful pink. The drawing room where Napoleon and Illya were playing chess was bathed in the warm light. Napoleon was finally getting warmer himself, thanks to the grand fireplace and several more cups of tea. He wasn’t relishing the thought of returning to the Violet Suite that night, but he told himself it was simply because of the cold, and not for any other reason. Illya had just declared checkmate for the third time in less than an hour when the other house guests could be heard trooping into the entrance hall.

“Bloody cold out there, Hawker, be a good fellow and get us a proper drink will you?” boomed a very loud, very posh male voice. Napoleon felt it must belong to Major Eldon, the eldest of the houseguests.

“Don’t throw your copy of ‘Das Kapital’ at anyone, Illya, that thing could cause permanent damage.” Napoleon said, as they walked to the entrance hall to meet the group of people gathered there, taking off their coats and wet shoes.

“Did not bring Kapital, Cowboy. Manifesto much more succinct and suitable for travel.” Illya replied, with a grin, which made Napoleon’s knees slightly weak.

“Good afternoon!” called Napoleon.

“Oh, hello, new arrivals!” replied a tall woman wearing a tweed coat and very nice brown leather boots. She smiled and stepped forward, taking Napoleon’s proffered hand. “Elspeth Johnson.”

“Nathan Stone, this is my friend, Vitaly Ivanovich.” Napoleon replied shaking her hand. She had short, dark brown hair, wide brown eyes and a very good handshake.

“Pleasure.” She said, and turned to Illya.

“Lord, you’re a tall one! I’m used to intimidating men in these shoes, you know.” Illya smiled at her, shaking her hand.

“Are still very intimidating. Ms.Johnson.”

“Oh, call me Elspeth, I’m going to call you Vitaly.”

“So, you’re Hugo’s waifs and strays are you?” boomed the Major, coming up at Napoleon’s elbow with a large whisky.

He was exactly as Napoleon had imagined him, portly, with a large moustache and with a face puckered with burst blood vessels, indicating that the whisky in his hand was not the first of the day.

“Yes, I suppose we are. Nathan Stone,” Napoleon held his hand out, “how do you do?”

“How do you do? Major Peregrine Eldon, that there is my son, Tobias” he pointed to a man in his early twenties, who was unfortunately made in his father’s image, “my daughter, Caroline,” he gestured to a slim, mousey woman, who was probably about nineteen, “and Toby’s fiancé, Francesca MacBride.” He pointed to a very pretty, blonde woman who was probably the same age as Tobias.

“Well, I’m sure we’ll--.” Napoleon began, only to be interrupted by Eldon again, who apparently wasn’t finished.

“That man over there, is Phillip Ludgrove, he’s a doctor of something or other” a pale, slender man in his mid-forties with prematurely greying hair, a pair of horn rimmed spectacles perched on his nose, who was engaged in taking his walking boots off “And those two are Charlotte and Leopold Jesmond.”He pointed at the couple standing slightly off to the side, having a fairly heated discussion.

Napoleon estimated them to be in their late thirties, and very well off, judging by her fur coat and his watch. She had dark hair and wide set eyes, and he was tall and blonde. They should have made an attractive couple, if they weren’t glaring at each other. None of the collected party seemed a likely candidate for a THRUSH agent, but as Hugo said earlier, that was usually the case with spies.

“Well, I’m sure we’ll make quite a happy bunch for Christmas.” Napoleon said, smiling at the Major, who harrumphed in reply.

“Your friend is a Russian, is he? I thought the Bolshies didn’t celebrate Christmas.” Eldon said, clearly thinking he was saying something witty. Illya was still talking to Elspeth Johnson, although Napoleon couldn’t hear what about.

“Vitaly defected and he’s quite looking forward to his first Christmas this side of the wall.” Napoleon lied, smoothly. Fortunately Napoleon was saved from any further conversation with the Major as Tobias, Caroline and Francesca decided to join them.

“Hugo says you’re an artist?” Tobias said, in the same tone that one might say ‘I heard you had a contagious skin disease’.

Napoleon smiled his best smile and tossed his curls, establishing Nathan’s slightly empty headed persona. “Oh well. I dabble.”

“It sounds fascinating.” Francesca said, smiling at him, and Toby scoffed.

“Oh yes, Cesca, sitting around getting paint all over yourself, very fascinating.”

Francesca frowned at him. “You really needn’t be so beastly, Toby, I am allowed an opinion.”

She stepped away from her fiancé slightly, but clearly the floor was wet from so many people trudging in from the snow outside. She slipped and started to fall backwards, with a small cry, but was caught by the expert and very capable arms of one Vitaly Ivanovich aka Illya Kuryakin, who probably had special KGB training in catching damsels in distress. No one else had really had time to react.

“Are you alright?” Illya asked gently and Napoleon resisted the urge to roll his eyes when Miss MacBride went pink and tucked some of her hair behind her ear, before Illya let her go. Another one to add to the list of people infatuated with the Russian. They could probably start a support group at this rate.

“Oh, yes, thank you.” Francesca replied, not taking her gaze from Illya’s face.

“Bloody good reflexes, Vitaly.” Elspeth said, slapping him on the arm, making Illya smile a little.

Napoleon suspected he was covering a wince, if Elspeth’s handshake was anything to go by.

“Certainly moved faster than you, Toby.” Caroline piped up, in a small, reedy voice. Toby looked distinctly miffed, and took his fiancé’s arm, even as she still gazed at Illya.

“Good afternoon, everyone!” Hugo had appeared in the hall, with a glamorous elderly woman on his arm. Napoleon remembered something about the Dowager Duchess Wexford living with her son at Castle Bellamy. “Mummy and I are delighted to have you all with us, and I do hope you enjoyed your walk. As you can see, Nathan and Vitaly have made it up here at last. So I’ll let you all go and change and the dinner bell will go in an hour- no need to dress up too much this evening, save your proper togs for the big day.”

There was a polite ripple of laughter, during which Illya managed to flick Napoleon a half mystified, half disparaging glance, before everyone started to go their separate ways. Francesca MacBride looked longingly back at Illya, who was fortunately immune to longing glances. Elspeth lingered in the hall a moment or two longer, giving Napoleon and Illya a vaguely assessing glance.

“Can we help you, Ms- Elspeth?” Illya asked.

“Oh, no. I’m just very grateful to you both, I’m certain you’re going to make this house party a lot more entertaining.” She grinned at them.

“We’re quite dull, I assure you.” Napoleon replied.

“Pull the other one, Nate. See you at dinner!” She winked at them before heading off up the stairs.

“Well, I for one, am looking forward to dinner.” Napoleon declared, as he and Illya set off back to their rooms.

“Will complain about English cooking, as you always do.”

“Yes, Peril, but the drama is what I’m looking forward to. No other nation on Earth does passive aggression like the Brits. And I say that as our respective nations are in a Cold War with each other.”

“Is a little like Agatha Christie novel.” Illya conceded, as they reached their landing.

“You see? I’m almost expecting sparkling cyanide in the sherry.” 

* * *

 

Castle Bellamy’s dining room was festively decorated with evergreen garlands, holly and ivy spilling across the vast table, with fat wax candles giving the room a warm, welcoming glow. Napoleon was grateful that at least the heavily stoked fire was putting out heat in this room, the Violet Suite had been utterly freezing as he’d changed into a smart blue shirt and dark brown pants for dinner. The uneasy sensation of being watched also hadn’t dissipated, and Napoleon was not looking forward to returning there that night. The Jesmond couple were already seated in the dining room when Napoleon entered, along with the Major and his quiet daughter, Caroline. Napoleon took it upon himself to sit next to her, as she looked like she was having a rather miserable time, stuck at her father’s elbow as he held forth to the Jesmonds about what should be done about the nuclear question.

“Good evening. Miss Eldon, right?” Caroline blinked from behind her spectacles.

“Oh, yes. You’re Mr Stone, the artist.”

“I am indeed. I prefer Nathan to Mr Stone if you don't mind. Do you like art?”

Caroline frowned a little. “I do- but not to the extent that I would consider my opinion on it valuable, just that I know what I like and what I don’t. I do rather like modern work, the stuff my father calls industrial dreck.” Napoleon was surprised by that answer, expecting either a mumbled response or a simple yes or no. He smiled.

“I like contemporary art too- tell me have you seen any of Barbara Hepworth’s sculptures?” Napoleon spent a pleasant few minutes conversing with Caroline about English sculptors, in which time he managed to establish she was twenty years old, had never left the mainland of the United Kingdom and was a damn sight sharper, funnier and more engaging that his initial impression of her had led him to believe.

“Ah, your friend is here,” she said after a few moments, and nodded towards the door, “I think he’ll probably have been waylaid by Francesca.” She took a sip of her water and smiled knowingly at Napoleon.

Illya was already making his way towards them. He slipped into the seat next to Napoleon’s looking extremely handsome in a black shirt and a pair of black pants, his broad shoulders and narrow waist accentuated by the severe cut of the dark fabric. He also looked rather harried.

“Dodging Miss MacBride, Peril? Is she trying to get you under the mistletoe?” Napoleon asked.

Caroline laughed, then covered it with her hand. Illya glanced at him, glaring darkly.

“No.”

“Vitaly’s quite the ladykiller, it’s his shy uninterested act, Caroline. Gets them every time.” Caroline laughed again and Illya rolled his eyes.

Elspeth Johnson wandered in, dressed in a very fetching trouser suit, spotted them and hastened to their side of the room, pulling the chair next to Illya’s out and sitting down.

“Evening all, lets box you in Vitaly, protect your virtue.”

“Not you too.” Illya said, miserably.

“I know a panicked man who doesn’t know how to let some nice girl down lightly when I see one, believe me. I’ve been to Soho.” She said, winking broadly at Napoleon, who smiled back.

“It’s ok, I’ll keep an eye on him.” Napoleon said, and patted Illya’s arm. Illya obviously wouldn’t know what Elspeth was implying and it was sort of nice to indulge in the fantasy.

Illya looked at him, an odd expression on his face. “You’ll keep eye on me? First time for everything, cowboy.”

“Oh, and I was rather looking forward to seeing my brother try and get up the nerve to try and fight you, Vitaly,” Caroline said, and then added in an undertone “but I was looking forward to you throwing him out into the snow even more.”

“You don’t like your brother, then.” Napoleon said, and Caroline gave him a look.

“You’ve met him.” Caroline replied darkly, as Tobias and Francesca entered the room, Francesca’s eyes scanning the table for Illya, even whilst she held her fiancé’s arm. She looked distinctly put out when she was led to sit next to Mrs Jesmond, a good distance away from Illya. Napoleon felt rather smug.

“Well, you’ll be off to university soon, I’m sure? A brain like yours would be a terrible thing to waste.” Napoleon said.

Caroline’s eyes widened, and she made a little cutting off gesture with her hands.

“Caroline? Off to university, are you mad?” Major Eldon asked, finally seeming to have run out of claptrap opinions. “She needs to find herself a husband and settle down, not go off filling her head with nonsense.”

Napoleon ran a hand through his hair and flashed the Major a grin. “But isn’t it her choice to make, Captain?”

The Major went such a shade of red that Napoleon was genuinely worried his head might explode, but his tantrum was averted by Hugo and his mother making their entrance, closely followed by Dr Phillip Ludgrove, who was adjusting his tie.

“Oh, lovely, everyone’s here.” Hugo said, smiling, as Hawker, who had obviously been on standby, came in with two footmen and started serving the soup. Napoleon actually made a noise of surprise at his first mouthful.

“Cyanide?” Illya asked.

“No. This is actually edible.”

“Yes, Nathan, is food.”

“No, I mean I’m actually going to enjoy eating it.” It had been a very long time since Napoleon had eaten cream of tomato soup this good.

“The Carlton-Bellamy’s chef is French, Nathan. Hugo’s mother, Emmeline is American, and she decided if she had to live in this old heap she’d damn well have decent food to make the place more liveable.” Elspeth explained.

The rest of the meal was equally delicious, and Napoleon tried not to get too distracted by the lamb and new potatoes, followed by one of the finest tiramisus he’d ever eaten, as he did actually have a job to do. Fortunately Illya, who had been raised on a mixture of flavourless root vegetables and the communist dream, was also there to take note of the other guests. Napoleon spotted that things between the Jesmond’s seemed rather chilly, with Charlotte drinking rather a lot and Leopold certainly noticing. Tobias Eldon was just about as wrongly opinionated as his father, and his fiancé was still trying to catch Illya’s eye.

The dowager was a spritely and engaging woman in her mid seventies, with a soft antebellum accent. Doctor Ludgrove ate very methodically and said very little, whilst Elspeth chatted away happily to Illya, who was probably equally happy to have a reason to avoid looking at Miss MacBride’s end of the table. All in all no one seemed to really present themselves or rule themselves out as a THRUSH agent, and by the time the port was being served Napoleon was both content and frustrated.

“I’m going to have to get that tiramisu recipe from the chef.” Napoleon said to Illya, who nodded. Illya generally saw food as fuel but Napoleon had noticed that he seemed to enjoy desserts.

“Why am I not surprised that you cook, Stone?” Major Eldon remarked, sneering a little.

Illya frowned at the Major. “Is man supposed to starve?”

Napoleon braced himself for whatever was coming next, and he suspected the words ‘limp wristed’, ‘pansy’ and ‘poofter’, might be liberally used.

The Major smiled smugly,“Well, I already worked out he wasn’t married-“

“Is that crime?” Illya asked, his voice dangerously flat.

Eldon blanched, “Well, in this country-“

“Men are not allowed to cook. Is probably why you need American and Russian help in World Wars, if your army cannot even boil egg.”

At that point the Dowager Duchess called Major Eldon’s name from across the table, and Eldon, sensing he was losing ground and fast, bid a hasty retreat.

Caroline flushed a little, and looked very apologetic.

“Sorry about my father he’s-“

“An ass, Caro, he always has been, and he’s not your responsibility.” Elspeth said, and then glanced at her watch.

“Right, I’m off to bed, night darlings.” She stood up and kissed Caroline on the cheek, winked at Napoleon and Illya and then said goodnight to the room at large.

“So forgive us for being the interlopers, Caroline, but how do you all know each other?” Napoleon asked, confident that as he drank his port, Illya, who had been sipping table water all evening, would be drawing one of his mental maps.

“Well- Daddy was friends with the old Duke, Hugo’s father, he passed away a few years ago and now mummy is gone too we spend Christmas here. Hugo went to school with Elspeth’s older brother- I forget his name, but he was killed in the war and Elspeth and her family had something of a falling out, so she comes here. She’s lovely, like a big sister. Phil- sorry, Doctor Ludgrove, does work on tree disease and parasites, he and Hugo have been friends since university and he comes to study the flora around here. And the Jesmonds I don’t know too well I’m afraid, I think he might be an architect? Something to do with some work they had done on the house this summer, I think this visit is a favour.” Caroline paused for a moment to take a sip of orange juice, then looked at Napoleon and Illya thoughtfully.

“How about you two, how do you know Hugo?”

“Oh- I’m living in London and Hugo and I met in an art gallery where I was exhibiting some work. He quite liked my paintings, we got chatting, I was very charming. And Vitaly and I know each other from way back, isn’t that right?” Napoleon said, turning to Illya and putting his hand briefly on his arm. Illya nodded.

“Nathan was kind enough to let me stay in his flat, and now he drags me everywhere.”

“Hey now, I need someone to carry my stuff for me.” Napoleon replied and Illya smiled at him fondly and for a moment Napoleon’s chest ached horribly. Perhaps things could have been that simple, if his life had been different.

“Do you- do you mind me asking, Mr Ivanovich, why you defected?” Caroline asked gently. Illya took a sip of water.

“Was difficult decision, of course, but- what was happening in Russia was not what I believe is right. Is- parody. Could not stay.” Napoleon glanced at Illya’s hands, expecting to see the slight tremor that he associated with Ilya’s being stressed or worried after telling a lie and instead he saw Illya’s perfectly steady hand putting his glass down. Caroline nodded.

“Well, I’m glad you’ve found friends and I do hope you aren’t missing home too terribly." She covered her mouth with the back of her hand to hide a yawn. "I’m sorry, but I think I’m ready for bed as well.”

“Think I am tired too.” Illya said, and the three of them stood, and said their goodnights.

Fortunately for Illya, Miss MacBride was being talked to by her future father in law, and could only call goodnight along with everyone else. They walked Caroline to the top of the stairs and said goodnight to her there, before setting off to their own rooms. Napoleon just happened to glance back and strangely, he spotted Elspeth Johnson only just coming up the stairs from the hall, still dressed as she had been at dinner, and looking rather upset. He caught Illya’s sleeve and gestured to her, as she made her way along the landing. Illya frowned and then shrugged, and they made their way to their rooms.

“Goodnight.” Napoleon said, pushing his door open, and Illya replied likewise, going into his own room.

Napoleon had just made it to the adjoining door when it opened.

“So, what do you- Cowboy, is completely freezing in here, do you not know how to stoke fire?” Illya walked into Napoleon’s room and headed straight for the fire.

“I’ve only just gotten in!” Napoleon protested, as Illya dropped to his knees in front of the fireplace and started shoving kindling onto the glowing embers.

“Should be your first concern, you feel the cold so badly.” Illya pointed out, rather surprising Napoleon. He hadn’t thought that Illya had noticed.

“We can’t all have lived in a fridge for the first twenty years of our lives.”

“Do not call Kiev ‘a fridge’.” Illya replied, frowning at the fire, which had been resurrected somewhat but was putting out no more heat.

“So, you have any inklings yet, then? Kind of strange that Elspeth didn’t actually go to bed when she said she would, I wonder where she went?” Napoleon prompted, trying to distract Illya from the overall strangeness of the Violet Suite.

“Could have gone outside, stars must be very clear here. Or for cigarette? Do not get feeling she is our spy.” Illya said, glancing into the corner of the room and then back at Napoleon.

“No, me neither. Caroline doesn’t strike me as a THRUSH agent either, much too sensible. And her father-“

“Bigoted old fool.” Illya mumbled.

“Quite. But a spy?” Illya shrugged.

“Seems as subtle as brick through window. But perhaps is act.” He sat down on Napoleon’s bed, and yawned.

“Am I boring you?” Napoleon joked, sitting down next to him.

“Is country air. Am quite tired.”

Napoleon nodded.

“So am I. I figure we try and speak to more people tomorrow, I’m going to paint in the drawing room.”

“Is good plan, are better at speaking to people than I am.” Illya said, a little ruefully.

“You’re better at it than you give yourself credit for, when you relax you’re very nearly charming.” Napoleon said, trying to sound jokey, but somehow it came out a little too serious, and Illya glanced at him, his eyes lit by the fire again, giving the impression of warmth.

“You think so?” He asked, an unusual amount of uncertainty in his voice, his gaze very intense. Napoleon was suddenly very aware that they were sitting on his bed, in front of a fire, in what could be a very romantic setting if it didn’t feel like someone was peeking at them from behind the wardrobe. It wouldn’t take very much to lean forward and kiss Illya. And then have his nose broken by a furious Russian who would probably ask for a transfer to the other side of the world so he never had to see Napoleon again.

“Well, I’m sure Miss MacBride thinks you’re charming whether you speak or not.” Napoleon said, standing up and going to his dresser. Illya was still sitting on the bed when Napoleon turned around, holding an old sweater and a pair of boxer shorts, the kind of thing that Nathan Stone would sleep in. Their gazes locked but Illya didn’t seem to be quite focussed on him.

“Peril?”

“Yes?”

“I’m tired.” Illya gazed at him uncomprehendingly, and then seemed to snap out of it. He stood up quickly.

“Yes- of course. Goodnight.” Illya replied, and more or less bolted from the room.

“’Night.” Napoleon called, as the door swung shut behind Illya.

* * *

 

Napoleon awoke to tapping. A sharp, incessant knocking, which came from the wardrobe. Perhaps the place had Death Watch beetle. He switched the bedside lamp on to check his travel clock and discovered it was only half past twelve. He’d been asleep for less than an hour. He rolled onto his back and shivered.

The room was completely freezing, right down to the bedsheets, which almost seemed to be frost rimed. The tapping, at least had stopped. Which was when one of the wardrobe doors creaked all the way open and then slammed shut. Napoleon sat up, startled, and watched as the other door opened, then was slammed shut again. The doors opened and slammed in unison, then back to one at a time and Napoleon couldn’t tear his eyes away, or move a single muscle. It was quite unlike anything he’d seen in his entire life.

“Cowboy- what-?” Illya burst through the adjoining door, and then stopped, staring at the wardrobe. He cursed in Russian, then was at Napoleon’s bedside giving the wardrobe a wide berth.

“Come on, cannot sleep in here.” He said, grabbing Napoleon’s arm.

Napoleon nodded, because there really was no arguing with that, and let Illya tug him to his room, where Illya wedged a chair underneath the door handle. Napoleon stood in front of Illya’s fireplace, marvelling at how incredibly warm the Red Room was in comparison to the Violet Suite. He hadn’t realised just how cold he was, but he was actually shaking. Illya was suddenly in front of him, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders.

It was only then that Napoleon became aware that Illya was wearing a pair of dark grey boxers and nothing else and Napoleon could see practically every inch of his skin.

“Aren’t you cold?” he asked, nonsensically and Illya blinked at him.

“Have just witnessed violent haunting and ask if I am cold?” Illya asked.

“Haunting? Oh, come on, Illya, that was- a draught or woodworm or-”

“Napoleon, your room is freezing and always feels as if someone is watching. What would you call that?” Illya said, reaching out and touching Napoleon’s arm.

“An old country house?” Illya let out a noise of frustration.

“Cowboy.”

“What? I never knew you were so superstitious.” Napoleon replied, focusing on the incredible warmth of Illya’s hand on his arm. The banging and slamming in the Violet Suite had not stopped, and seemed only to be getting louder.

“When faced with overwhelming evidence cannot help it! Look, just, get into bed, will talk of it in morning.” Illya said, gesturing, for some reason, to his bed. Napoleon stared at him.

“Er, what?”

“You cannot go back in there, if nothing else will freeze in the night.” Illya declared, guiding Napoleon to the vast bed. Napoleon could hardly deny that his room was uninhabitable, but he barely trusted himself to share a bed with Illya. He hesitated, not knowing what to do.

“Cowboy- if you are uncomfortable with sharing bed, I will sleep on floor.” Illya offered, in a strange small voice.

“No- sorry, I’m just a little. Freaked out.” Napoleon admitted, because at least that much was true. He climbed into the bed and was slightly alarmed to discover the sheets were still warm from Illya’s body.

“Sorry- this is your side, we can-“

“Is fine, you need as much warmth as you can get. Can feel chill from your skin.” Illya waved his hand as he got into bed, flicking his bedside lamp off, so the only light in the room came from the embers of the fire. Napoleon wanted to argue but his teeth were actually chattering and he couldn’t stop shaking. “Can warm you up, if you like.” Illya offered and Napoleon rolled over, blinking at him in the low light.

“What?”

“Best way to warm up is body heat. Will stop shivering faster.” Napoleon wasn’t entirely certain that he wasn’t still asleep and that this was all a very elaborate and involved dream. There was no way on earth he could possibly be awake and have Illya willingly offer to share body heat with him.

“Napoleon?”

“If- if you want.”

Illya was suddenly pressed up against Napoleon, wrapping his strong arms around Napoleon’s waist, and pulling him tightly against his chest, tangling his long legs with Napoleon’s own. At least one benefit of being as cold as he was, Napoleon wasn’t going to have to deal with an immediate, unwanted erection.

“Warmer corpses have been dragged out of Volga.” Illya hissed, as Napoleon’s chilled feet pressed against Illya’s calf. Napoleon couldn’t help sighing in pleasure as Illya’s warmth started to engulf his own body.

“Feel better?” Illya asked, and Napoleon could hear the teasing note in his voice, but he was still too cold to care much.

“Yes. Thank you.” Napoleon told himself he was not to tuck his face into Illya’s neck, no matter how warm and inviting it looked. Illya’s hand was in Napoleon’s hair.

“Go to sleep, cowboy.” He whispered, gently stroking his fingers through Napoleon’s curls. Neither of them had noticed that the noises in the Violet Suite had stopped completely as they drifted off to sleep. 

* * *

 

Napoleon awoke slowly, dragging himself out of a dream of exceptional sweetness and longing, to find he was not alone in bed, if the warm presence snugged up against his back and the arm around his waist were anything to go by.

The events of the previous night gradually filtered into his mind, the coldness, the strange happenings with the wardrobe and- Illya. Napoleon rolled over slightly, and in the weak light of the winter’s dawn he could make out the side of Illya’s face, his strong jaw and his incredibly long, thick eyelashes fanning against his cheek. He was clearly still asleep, given his deep, slow breathing.

Panic rose in Napoleon’s chest, because obviously his body was reacting to being this close to Illya, and God only knew the last thing he needed was for Illya to wake up and discover Napoleon in a state of arousal in his bed. He knew he should get out up and go for a shower, preferably a cold one, and then he’d be able to face his friend with only the usual amount of guilt.

He started to sit up, but Illya only tightened his hold on Napoleon, pressing his face into Napoleon’s hair and making a little noise of displeasure. Napoleon mouthed a curse at the ceiling.

“Peril?” Napoleon whispered. Illya didn’t respond, he simply pulled Napoleon closer.

“Illya.” Napoleon said, a little louder than his normal speaking voice, and Illya’s eyes blinked open.

“Um. Good morning.” Illya said, frowning a little. He failed to loosen his grip on Napoleon’s waist.

“And a good morning to you, too. You going to let me up? I’m not freezing to death now.” Napoleon pointed out, raising his eyebrows.

Illya’s frown deepened in confusion, until Napoleon tapped him on the arm, which was wrapped rather possessively around his middle. Illya pulled away from Napoleon like he was on fire.

“Sorry.” Illya sat up, averting his gaze.

“It’s fine, I like cuddling.” Napoleon said, and then wished he had bitten his tongue when he saw how tightly Illya’s jaw was clenched.

“Not with me.” Illya said, climbing out of bed, and all but sprinting out of the room. Napoleon watched him go, half a dozen protests on his lips, but the door had already swung shut by the time he had worked up the nerve to verbalise any.

“Nice going, cowboy.” Napoleon said to himself as he forced himself out of the warmth of the bed. Obviously he’d overplayed his hand with Illya. Now was the time for apologies and affirmations he wasn’t trying to get him into bed, not silly jokes. He’d have to find him later, and allay any suspicions Illya might have about his intentions.

He sighed and went back to the Violet Suite. The wardrobe doors were shut, and only the rumpled bed sheets pointed towards the disruption of the previous evening. Napoleon went to the wardrobe and opened the doors, peering inside. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting to find, perhaps some sort of mechanical device that would explain the noises and movement. All he found were his own clothes, which he had hung in there the day before. He shut the doors, and resolved to put the odd events from his mind. Perhaps it had been the old house settling. That was probably it, a loose floorboard had caused the doors to open and close, the wood having warped with damp and age, the cold weather making it contract.

None of that explained why Napoleon was moving so quickly to gather his washbag and clothing so he could get dressed in the bathroom immediately after his shower, and not have to return to his cold, unwelcoming room. It also didn’t explain away the feeling that someone was hiding behind the curtains again, or the urge Napoleon had to tell whoever it was to go to hell. It was all ridiculous, Illya couldn’t truly think Napoleon’s room was haunted by an actual ghost. Ghosts were not real. He slammed his bedroom door as he left for good measure anyway.


	2. Chapter Two

Illya was nowhere to be found at breakfast, and when Napoleon asked if Elspeth had seen Vitaly, she gave him a highly sympathetic look.

“I saw him earlier, he said he was going for a walk in the woods with Dr. Ludgrove. Looked to have a bit of a bee in his bonnet.” She patted his arm.

Napoleon brooded throughout breakfast, and it was only when the Duke entered the room did he remember he was supposed to be working, not drinking coffee and thinking about his partner. He resolved to put the man from his mind and actually do his job.

By the time the breakfast things were being cleared away by the staff, a light snow had started to fall.

“Well, that puts a crimp in the plan to have a walk out onto the moors, I suppose.” Mr Jesmond said, eyeing the grey sky.

“Not unless you want to turn into an icicle.” Tobias declared, and then let out a braying laugh.

“Will Mr Ivanovich and Doctor Ludgrove be alright?” Caroline asked, looking slightly worriedly at the flurry outside.

Napoleon smiled at her. “Vitaly was practically born in a snowdrift, he’ll look after the Doctor. If anything he thrives in this weather.”

Still, the snow had rather limited everyone’s options for the day. Making it into the nearby town for last minute shopping was quite of the question. Caroline disappeared to the library, Major Eldon to the Billiards Room with his son and Mr Jesmond, whilst the eternally unimpressed Mrs Jesmond and Francesca MacBride settled in the drawing room with books. Elspeth sat at the writing desk in the same room, glaring at a blank sheet of paper. Napoleon set his easel up at on off the large picture windows and began to sketch the view.

“I say, that’s rather good.” Elspeth said, abandoning the writing desk and heading over to look at Napoleon’s work.

“Thank you.”

“May I have a look in your sketchbook?” She asked.

“Go ahead.” Napoleon tended to sketch wherever he went, it was rather a good cover when watching someone in a public, people didn’t tend to notice him when he was apparently so intent on drawing something.

“Ah, now there’s someone I recognise.” Elspeth said, fishing a loose sketch out of a pile.

Napoleon glanced at her and then tried to hide his blush at her knowing look. He thought he’d removed all the sketches of Illya from his pads before he packed them, but apparently he hadn’t caught all of them.

“Is it Vitaly?” Francesca asked, perking up considerably.

Mrs Jesmond rolled her eyes as Francesca stood and walked over to where Elspeth sat.

“Yes, it is- did you two holiday in Paris?” Elspeth asked.

“Yes- good eye.” Napoleon answered, knowing exactly which picture Elspeth was looking at without seeing it for himself.

The sketch showed Illya sitting outside a little café in Montmartre, reading a book. It had been their cover that they would appear to be tourists interested in the bohemian culture of the city. It was certainly easier for Illya to incapacitate them after they had visited one of the districts many bars. Then they had secured the shipment of weapons earmarked for THRUSH. It had been a very successful mission and Napoleon had actually managed to convince Illya to drink a glass of champagne to celebrate afterwards.

“Does Vitaly sit for you often?” Mrs Jesmond asked in a not entirely pleasant tone of voice.

Napoleon laughed. “Well you know getting models is kind of expensive and Vitaly is usually around so. Sure.”

Mrs Jesmond narrowed her eyes. “You live together?”

Good Lord. The house seemed to be split entirely between people who thought he and Illya were a couple of raging sodomites and those who would go to see The Importance of Being Earnest and actually think that the cucumber sandwiches were just cucumber sandwiches.

“Rent isn’t cheap in London.” Elspeth put in giving Mrs Jesmond a rather steely eyed look. Francesca frowned.

“Why not just buy somewhere?” Elspeth laughed at that and Napoleon found himself joining in.

“What?” Francesca asked frowning.

“Cesca, have you never heard of starving artistes?” Elspeth asked.

“Yes, but a house in London can’t cost that much. Mummy and Daddy bought one just recently.” Francesca said in a tone that implied everyone else was being wilfully ignorant.

“Well, sadly I’m afraid that Vitaly and I don’t have two cents to rub together.” Napoleon declared.

The drawing room door opened and Illya entered his cheeks a little pink from the cold outside.

“Nathan was just telling us you’re both very poor, Vitaly. That you have to share digs and huddle for warmth; that sort of thing.” Elspeth said.

Illya’s flush deepened and not because of the cold. Evidently he was remembering Napoleon’s embarrassing display last night in his bedroom when he’d clung to Illya desperately.

“Yes. Is true.”

“You should marry someone with some money, then.” Francesca piped up smiling at Illya and flicking her long blonde hair over her shoulder.

Illya frowned. “Shouldn’t marry for money.”

Mrs Jesmond snorted. “No, you certainly should not, but everyone does. No one learns. No one ever fucking learns.”

Her speech was slightly slurred. Francesca bit her lip and Elspeth sat up in her chair a little. Everyone in the room focused on the ‘coffee cup’ in Mrs Jesmond’s hand, the one she’d been drinking deeply from all morning.

“Oh have I been caught out? I best go and have a lie down in case I spoil the mood.” Mrs Jesmond stood up and swayed slightly.

Illya moved to help but she stepped away from him quickly as though she imagined he might hurt her. She left the room without further incident.

“What a strange woman.” Francesca declared.

“Think she is troubled.” Illya replied which made Francesca backtrack rather quickly. “Well, yes and I’m deeply sympathetic but-”

“It isn’t polite to speculate on people’s lives” Elspeth said, standing up and handing Napoleon his sketchbook back “Something we should all bear in mind I think.” She returned to the writing desk and began her letter proper.

Francesca glared at her and then turned her attention back towards Illya.

Illya, for once, anticipated her intentions.

“I am going to the library.” He said making a small gesture at Napoleon suggesting he should come with him.

“Oh! I’ll come with you.” Francesca made to stand up.

“Why?” Illya asked sharply. He realised that his response had been rude and recovered himself quickly.

“Apologies Miss MacBride, I need to speak with Nathan for a few minutes and then intend to read quietly. Will not be good company.”

“Well, perhaps we can play chess later?” Francesca asked.

Illya smiled. “I would enjoy that very much.”

Napoleon didn’t roll his eyes but he really needed to speak to Illya about encouraging people. Illya was looking forward to playing chess with someone who wasn’t Napoleon for once, whilst Francesca was probably already planning their elopement.

He set down his pencil and followed Illya to the large oak panelled library at the end of the hallway.

“Good walk?” Napoleon asked whilst they walked down the corridor.

“Yes. The grounds are very beautiful. Dr Ludgrove is very interesting man.” Illya pushed open the library doors.

The room was empty save for the vast bookcases and exquisite chandeliers, but there were several books laid out on the central table along with a notepad and pens. Evidently Caroline had decided to take a break from her studies.

“Interesting in our sense of interesting?” Napoleon asked in a low voice.

Illya shook his head. “I do not think so. He is interested in tree diseases. There is a disease that has spread from the Low Countries which is affecting British elms. He thinks a more deadly strain could be on the way and he is doing research on the estate’s ancient woodland to try and discover cure.”

Napoleon blinked. “And I needed to know that why?”

“Is very interesting.” Illya replied a tad defensively.

“I see.”

“He has a chemistry kit set up in his room he tells me. Would not want you to discover it and think he was planning biological warfare. Think we can rule him out. Unless THRUSH shows interest in welfare of European woodland.”

“Seems unlikely.” Napoleon conceded.

Illya sighed. “Suppose we can rule out another suspect.”

They were standing rather close together so they could speak privately in the large room and Napoleon as usual was struck by how tall Illya was. Napoleon himself wasn’t short but he actually had to tip his head back to look Illya in the eye when they were this close. Except Illya wasn’t quite looking at him.

“Well, Mrs Jesmond is drunk already. Or seems drunk anyway. Perhaps it might be a good idea to give that couple a closer look.”

Illya nodded.

Napoleon stepped slightly closer. “Listen, I’m sorry about this morning-”he began.

“It’s alright.”

“It isn’t. I shouldn’t have teased you.”

That got Illya’s attention. “Teased me?”

“Yes, it was childish. You were very kind to me last night and I shouldn’t have joked around.”

Napoleon had intended for his apology to ease Illya’s mind. If anything he looked more distressed.

“I- it’s. We needn’t speak of it.”

“If you prefer, but I just wanted to let you know that I didn’t mean anything untoward.” Napoleon really couldn’t understand why Illya’s frown was deepening.

“I know.” Illya replied shortly.

“I mean. The idea is quite funny you have to admit.” Napoleon wished he could stop his mouth running off but apparently he was overcome with the need to fill the silences Illya was making.

Illya blinked. “Yes. Very funny.”

He didn’t look like he found it amusing in the slightest but Napoleon’s jaw wasn’t broken so he supposed Illya wasn’t actually offended.

“Anyway- how do you want to do things this afternoon? Shall we just play it by ear?” Napoleon offered.

Illya shrugged. “Sounds fine.”

The bee was still very firmly in Illya’s bonnet but there wasn’t much he could do about it right now. They had a mission to complete and it was probably just that Illya disliked staying in such a grand country house surrounded by people he didn’t know; he probably felt unsettled. Napoleon was searching for something else to say when the lunchtime gong rang out and Illya turned to leave without another word. 

* * *

 

The snow, which had been lightly spitting from the sky all morning was falling heavily by the time the house party finished their leisurely lunch. Everyone made their way to the large drawing room for drinks and because in the large house they were much more likely to keep warm if they all stayed in the same room. The day had turned bitterly cold.

Napoleon settled himself in one of the large cushioned window seats. He had a good view of all the other occupants of the room from there. He would be able to watch the snow which was falling in large fluffy flakes. He’d always liked to watch the snow fall and build up on the ground.

Illya sat a few meters away on a footstool next to the Dowager’s large, green velvet wing-back chair. The pair of them had sat together at lunch and had become fast friends. The Dowager was a lifetime subscriber to Tatler and Vogue and had once been close with Coco Chanel.

“Frightful woman. Big fan of The Fuhrer. It’ll come out one day you mark my words.”

Illya stretched his long legs out in front of him and offered his opinions on the latest fashions, which caused Major Eldon to give him a sardonic look.

“Know a lot about fashion do you, eh?”

“Yes. Find it is useful to know about when you wish to converse with ladies of taste.” Illya shot back.

Napoleon was highly impressed by how Illya was keeping a hold of his temper. Perhaps he considered the Major so beneath his notice that there was no point getting riled up.

The Dowager hooted with laughter. “Oh, you can’t expect a British man to know anything about fashion. My dear Horace would have worn the same outfit for everyone occasion if I’d’ve let him.”

The conversation drifted onto other topics. Mrs Jesmond hadn’t come down for lunch which was pointedly unremarked upon. Mr Jesmond was playing cards with Hugo and Dr Ludgrove and was looking more relaxed than Napoleon had seen him thus far. Tobias sat on a sofa nearby occasionally trying to take Francesca’s hand. She ignored him in favour of staring at Illya. Elspeth and Caroline sat on the floor leafing through some society papers, snickering over the more outrageous accounts. The Major was trying to draw the Dowager’s attention away from Illya but it clearly wasn’t working. Particularly as Illya brought the conversation around to the subject of whether or not a building this old might be haunted.

Napoleon glared at him over the Dowager’s head but Illya simply smiled a little in response.

“Oh! Of course! Which of you is in the Violet Suite?” the Dowager asked.

“I am.” Napoleon said.

The Dowager’s eyes sparkled and she looked much younger than her seventy five years.

“Did she wake you up?” A chill ran down Napoleon’s spine.

“What do you mean?” “The Violet Lady of course! Our poltergeist.” She smiled and Napoleon flicked a glance at Illya who raised his eyebrows.

“I think- well. There was some noise from the wardrobe but I thought it might be dry rot-”

“Dry rot? How dare you. No, my dear. That’s what the ghost does. You must be in love.” The Dowager surmised good-naturedly.

“I- what? I mean. I certainly am not-” Napoleon spluttered.

“Ah, but legend has it that the Violet Lady was locked in her room when she refused to marry the man her father chose for her. When she learnt that her father had had her lover killed, she threw herself out of the bedroom window and now she torments those with a restless and longing heart.” The Dowager smiled.

Hugo let out a sigh from across the room.

“There is absolutely no historical evidence to suggest that any of that happened, mother.”

“Yes, but you won’t spend the night in there will you, darling? Anyway. I hope she doesn’t disturb you too much. It’s the unrequited that she goes for, I suppose you best tell whoever it is so that you might have a decent night’s sleep.”

Napoleon made certain that he didn’t even glance at Illya.

“Well. Perhaps, I have a letter to send then.” He joked.

He still didn’t believe there actually was a ghost and he was quite certain there was a rational explanation. A century’s dead woman wasn’t going to stop him from sleeping simply because he was helplessly in love with Illya; it made absolutely no sense.

“How about a game of charades?” Elspeth suggested.

Several hours later Napoleon was feeling rather merry. They were no closer to catching their spy assuming they even existed but the parlour games had been fun. The Dowager pulled the prompts out of the hat and handed them to the person doing the miming. Elspeth was first as she had suggested the game and she eventually gave up trying to describe the title through actions and simply mimed Gene Kelly’s famous street scene so that everyone shouted out ‘Singin’ in the Rain’ at once.

Tobias got War and Peace which took excruciatingly long for anyone else to understand because his ‘War’ looked more like a fist fight. Illya eventually worked it out, which led him to be given a clue. He read his prompt and gestured that it was both a book and a film made up of two words. He then held an arm out and made as if he was drawing back the string of a bow.

“Robin Hood!” Napoleon shouted, because it was so incredibly obvious. Illya beamed at him.

“Well, that’s almost cheating.” Tobias grumbled. The rest of the afternoon passed pleasantly, as did the evening. In fact it was so pleasant, Napoleon had nearly forgotten all about the mission until Illya knocked on the adjoining door of their rooms.

“Come in.” Napoleon called.

Illya stepped into the room casting a wary glance around.

For once, though, the Violet Suite felt normal. The fire was actually giving out a welcome amount of heat and the strange feeling of being watched had lifted.

“So. We are no closer to anything.” Illya declared.

Napoleon was surprised. He had thought that Illya had been in similar high spirits, but he sounded rather subdued.

“No. Look, Peril there was only an outside chance this was real information. If a THRUSH agent is here then they might mess up and reveal themselves.” Napoleon said.

Illya sighed. “Is waste of time.”

“I’m rather enjoying myself.” Napoleon said, hurt once again by the fact that Illya really didn’t want to spend time with him over Christmas.

Illya scrubbed a hand through his hair. “We are not supposed to be having fun.”

“Chance would be a fine thing with you.” Napoleon said sharply.

He instantly regretted it when Illya glanced at him, obviously hurt.

“What?” Illya asked.

“I mean, you could unbend at least a little, Red. You aren’t a toy soldier. You’re allowed to do things that aren’t missions.” Napoleon said, gently.

“Do not have to patronise me.” Illya replied.

“I’m not-” Napoleon began to protest.

“Of course you are. You are either patronising or teasing me. Do not care if you think I am no fun, Cowboy.”

“I never said that! Just- look you’ve got to admit it’s nice not being shot at for once. We deserve a rest just as much as anyone.” Illya sighed again.

“Would have liked to pick where I got to have a rest.”

“Yes, and with whom, I’m sure.” It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Illya to just telephone Gaby if he missed her so damn much.

Illya flicked him an odd glance. “Will investigate Jesmond couple tomorrow.”

“That seems like a good idea. Anyway I’m awfully tired.” Napoleon declared. He wasn’t but he didn’t want to spend more time with Illya and risk annoying him again.

“You are planning to sleep in here?” Illya looked surprised.

“Yes? You didn’t believe the Dowager’s story did you?”

“Believe what I saw with my own eyes only yesterday.”

“What an angry ghost is tormenting me because I’m in love with someone? Illya that is the biggest crock I have ever heard.”

“Perhaps you should write your letter anyway.” Illya said.

“What letter?” Napoleon asked honestly confused.

“Earlier, when the Dowager told you the story, you said there was someone you should write to. Perhaps you should, just in case.” Illya was looking at him very intently and it was slightly unnerving.

“There isn’t anyone! I just said that to get you to all drop it.” Napoleon insisted.

Illya looked surprised. “Really?”

“Yes! We’re not all hopeless romantics like you, Peril, sweeping women off their feet all the time.” Napoleon quipped rather lamely.

It was the wrong thing to say as Illya’s expression became closed off again.

“Well. Good night then.” He said standing up and walking to the door.

“Illya I was only joking-” Napoleon began to apologise but Illya cut him off.

“Yes. You always are.” The door closed quietly behind him and Napoleon gazed at it for a good long moment.

He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d done to upset Illya but apparently he had, and quite badly too. Illya thought that Napoleon patronised him? Napoleon had thought that their friendship was more give and take than that; that Illya would know Napoleon was joking when he ribbed him. Apparently not. He certainly didn’t think Illya was boring. Where on earth had Illya gotten that idea from? He was probably the most interesting person Napoleon had ever met. He wanted to talk to him about all kinds of things, all of the time. He’d be quite happy to be holed up with Illya in this vast house completely alone. Apparently Illya didn’t feel the same way.

Perhaps Napoleon’s constant attempts to deflect Illya’s attention away from Napoleon’s feelings for him had worked too well. God, that was probably it. Taken at face value Napoleon’s constant joking around would seem flippant and occasionally cruel to someone as straightforward as Illya. Napoleon scrubbed a hand across his face. At least Illya didn’t suspect anything. Napoleon would just have to be nicer to him in a way that wouldn’t reveal anything. A good honest friendship with Illya might even be enough to allow Napoleon to get over his silly infatuation.

A memory of Illya in his boxer shorts, illuminated by firelight with his sleep mussed hair and kind eyes drifted into Napoleon’s sleepy mind. He rolled over onto his front determined to ignore his body’s entirely predictable reaction to thoughts of a near naked Illya Kuryakin. After a while he drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

 

Napoleon awoke to what felt like an earthquake. He didn’t think earthquakes were sizeable or even common in North Yorkshire so he quickly ruled one out. However his bed was undoubtedly rocking from side to side as if he were on a ship. The four poster was creaking and rattling alarmingly and Napoleon wasn’t entirely certain the wood wouldn’t split. He was once again too stunned by the strangeness of the events to actually move.

It occurred to him that he should probably be more scared- his bed was being moved by a person or persons unseen, after all. But he didn’t actually feel very afraid. Whatever was doing this wasn’t actually hurting him and he was certain that if it wanted to it could. If this force could heave a giant mahogany bed around it could certainly lift one of the antique vases adorning the mantelpiece and smash it against his head. It was almost as if someone was just trying to get him out of the room for some reason.

The adjoining door opened and once again Illya appeared. He looked distressed and his eyes widened as he watched the bed lurch alarmingly to the left.

“Napoleon?” Illya asked and Napoleon finally managed to shake off his catatonia.

“Shit.” He said pulling himself out of the bed. He jumped out of the way of another violent movement just narrowly missing a post landing on his foot.

This time Napoleon simply walked through the door which Illya held open for him. There was no point trying to argue that there wasn’t something incredibly odd happening in his room. Nor could he come up with a logical explanation at whatever time in the morning it was.

“It is quarter to three.” Illya informed him and Napoleon groaned.

“Sorry.” He said sitting down in the wing-back chair by the Red Room’s fireplace. Once again the Violet Room’s temperature had plunged to unbearably cold levels and Napoleon directed his feet towards the warmth of the low banked fire

. “Is alright.” Illya replied. He sat down on the end of his bed. Napoleon told himself that he was not to stare at Illya’s impressively muscled thighs even if they were bathed in flattering firelight.

“Perhaps this is a new THRUSH technique? A new way of implementing sleep deprivation, maybe?” Napoleon offered. Illya shook his head.

“Think you need to accept that there is a ghost in that bedroom, Cowboy.”

“Ghosts aren’t real Peril. They just aren’t. There has to be a logical explanation. I’m not denying there’s something going on but-” Napoleon gave a jaw cracking yawn.

“We can talk about this in the morning. Come to bed.” Illya said gently. Then he paused and looked a little agitated. “I did not mean that to sound-”

Napoleon bit his tongue to stop himself from making an obvious joke. He had just vowed to himself that he wouldn’t make his friend feel as if he were being condescended to.

“No I know. Are you sure though? I can sleep in the chair.” He offered. Illya shook his head.

“Will not be comfortable. Besides bed is very big.”

It had occurred to Napoleon that the bed was very big. He’d had some thoughts whilst drifting off earlier in the Violet Suite about how much rolling around two grown men could do on a bed that big without falling off of it.

“Alright then. Thank you.”

They got into bed together but this time Illya didn’t offer to warm Napoleon up. He supposed that was fair his teeth weren’t chattering and he’d managed to warm up a little by the fire.

“Goodnight.” Illya said flicking the bedside lamp off and rolling onto his side facing away from Napoleon.

“Sleep well.” Napoleon replied to Illya’s back.

It was a very long time before Napoleon managed to fall asleep again.

* * *

 

Napoleon awoke the next day to find the bed empty. The sun was already shining through the mullioned glass of the Red Room’s windows. He’d obviously slept longer than he’d intended. Illya hadn’t woken him up.

He washed and dressed quickly then headed downstairs to the dining room. Fortunately some of the house party were still in there so he hadn’t entirely missed breakfast. Elspeth was reading a newspaper, a cup of coffee at her elbow. She was sitting opposite Doctor Ludgrove who was methodically eating cereal. Tobias Eldon sat at the other end of the table smoking with a rather grumpy expression on his face.

“Good morning.” Dr Ludgrove said as Napoleon sat down next to him and took a slice of toast from the rack.

“I’m glad to hear it is still morning.” Napoleon replied with a grin and Ludgrove smiled at him.

“Yes, indeed. But I suppose we can’t all be early risers like your Russian friend. Interesting chap.”

“Vitaly? He certainly is that. When did he get up?” Napoleon asked.

Elspeth set down her newspaper. “According to the maids who have been avidly watching him, he has been outside chopping wood since around seven. Did you two have a row?”

Napoleon blinked.

“What? No. He just likes chopping wood.”

Amazingly Illya did like chopping wood. Although Napoleon knew he liked to do it only in part for fuel creation purposes and exercise. Illya had also told him that it was a good way to relieve stress or frustration. Napoleon vaguely remembered making a crude joke about masturbation and Illya blushing and ignoring him.

“Yes, well, he doesn’t have to be such a bloody show off about it, does he?” Tobias piped up from the end of the table.

Elspeth snorted. “Francesca has also been glued to the window for quite some time.”

“He could at least put his jumper back on. Standing around in a vest outdoors in this weather, it isn’t- it isn’t decent.” Tobias went on becoming very red in the face.

“I uh- I’ll go talk to him.” Napoleon said finishing his piece of toast and taking his mug of coffee with him.

He followed the sounds of female murmuring and giggling until he reached a corridor with a large bay window overlooking Castle Bellamy’s medieval courtyard. Three of the female staff were gathered around gazing out. Napoleon could hardly blame them. There couldn’t be an abundance of attractive men in rural Yorkshire and after all it was Christmas.

“I take it Vitaly is outside?” He said to the nearest maid. None of them had even been aware of his approach and they all gave little starts.

“Er. Yes he is sir.” The woman he had addressed replied, blushing a little.

“Thank you. I shall try not to disturb him for too long.” He winked at them and then slipped out of the side door into the courtyard.

Illya, as Tobias had described, had stripped out of his sweater and was wearing only a pristine white vest and dark trousers. Napoleon watched as Illya methodically placed a log on the chopping block then brought the blunt axe down on top of it in a smooth and incredibly powerful movement. The log split perfectly and Illya moved to set up one of the halves to split it once morre.

Of course no one was watching Illya for his faultless technique more the way they could see every single muscle in his arms and back rippling as he moved. He looked as he did in quite a few of Napoleon’s more shameful dreams; a light sweat standing out on his skin, his hair sticking up slightly rather than being ruthlessly combed down. His shirt was sticking to his chest, picking out the outline of his pectorals.

No, Napoleon would not blame anyone for wanting to watch Illya work out his annoyance on a lot of firewood. In fact Napoleon would have quite happily paid a lot of money to witness it, if such a thing were possible. Illya brought the axe down again and the thump of the blade on the wood brought Napoleon out of his reverie.

“Morning, Peril.”

Illya glanced up, a little warily.

“Good morning.” He replied.

“Everything alright?” Napoleon asked, when Illya did not deign to make a further comment.

“Yes. Everything is fine.” Illya swung the axe once more and then added two more logs to his already quite significant pile.

“I only ask because you normally only decide to fell a forest when you’re really het up about something, so I thought-”

“I am fine.” Illya replied, and swung the axe so it stuck safely into the chopping block.

“I- are you sure? You’ve seemed a little. Not fine.” Napoleon offered.

Illya sighed. “Suppose I would rather be somewhere else.”

Ah. Of course.

Illya wanted to be with Gaby. Napoleon highly suspected that the pair of them hadn’t even so much as kissed but that was probably all part of Illya’s incredibly polite courtship ritual. The man could snap someone’s spine in two if need be but he was never anything less than courteous towards Gaby. And instead of being allowed to spend Christmas with her, he’d been assigned to investigate a possibly fictional agent several hundred miles away from her.

Napoleon supposed he would find it rather sweet, if the whole idea of Illya and Gaby together didn’t make him feel nauseatingly jealous.

“Well. Then maybe I can stay here and you can go?” Napoleon suggested.

“What?”

“I don’t mind. If you want to take off back to London, I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Illya was staring at him like Napoleon had suggested he swim in Castle Bellamy’s frozen fishpond.

“You want me to leave?” He asked.

“What? No. But it’s obvious you’re miserable here and I’m not helping, am I?” It wasn’t as if he could turn himself into a five foot nothing German woman through sheer will.

Illya blinked.

“I’m not miserable. I-” He trailed off. Napoleon took a step forward and lowered his voice.

“You’re sure?”

Illya gave him what could only be described as a pained look.

“Yes. I can- carry on.”

Perhaps a courtyard being overlooked by a good portion of the Castle’s female occupants was not, in fact, a good place to hold an emotional discussion. Napoleon had the distinct impression that there was something he was supposed to be understanding but categorically was failing to. He considered bringing up the matter of the Violet Suite’s bizarre tendency to not let him sleep in his own bed, but in the very literal cold light of day the whole situation seemed too ludicrous to mention. Napoleon shivered. He was wearing a thick wool jumper but it had been a hard frost and the bright sunlight hadn’t reached the shadows of the courtyard.

“Should go inside and warm up.” Illya said picking the axe up again.

“You should too. Don’t spend too long out here you’ll catch your death.” Napoleon remarked.

Illya smirked at him. “It is barely below freezing temperature, Cowboy. Have bathed outside in colder than this.”

Napoleon could have done without the mental image of Illya standing naked and smirking in the snow.

“Fine. Just stop before you’ve taken down the entirety of Castle Bellamy’s forests. Doctor Ludgrove won’t thank you.” Napoleon called as he headed back inside.

He really couldn’t fathom why Illya hadn’t leapt at the chance to go back to London but that was Illya’s business. The man was fiercely loyal and probably didn’t want to leave Napoleon alone in a potentially dangerous situation. Napoleon manfully resisted the urge to go and take up a place at the window with the staff and headed off to the drawing room. He intended to paint and chat to the other guests to try and ferret out this damned THRUSH agent.

* * *

 

Sometime between Napoleon leaving him and lunch Illya had managed to drag himself away from his log pile long enough to have a shower. He sat down next Napoleon his hair still slightly damp. Napoleon had spent the rest of the morning painting and getting absolutely no closer to discovering if there even was an agent in the house. The mission was proving very frustrating on lots of different levels.

“Thanks awfully for all the work you did, Vitaly. Those logs will see is nearly into the new year I’m sure.” Hugo said. Napoleon hadn’t seen him, but he suspected His Grace had also been looking out of some discreet window earlier.

“Is alright. Find it relaxing.” Illya replied with a smile.

“Yes, but how?” Caroline asked. “I can barely walk a mile without needing a sit down!”

Illya laughed slightly. “You just have to improve stamina and core strength.”

“It’s not exactly the most useful skill though, is it? I mean it’s not hunting or- or something like that.” Tobias insisted, clearly annoyed that everyone was still discussing Vitaly’s physical prowess. 

“You’re terrible at hunting.” Caroline pointed out.

“I’m better than you-” Tobias put in sharply but was interrupted by Francesca.

“Where did you learn to do that, Vitaly?” 

Napoleon watched Illya carefully out of the corner of his eye as his spine stiffened slightly.

“My father taught me how.” He replied in a tone of voice that really should have led the questioner to drop that particular line of conversation.

“Is he still in Russia?” Francesca continued. Napoleon really couldn’t tell if the woman had no sense of tact or was just incredibly dim.

“No. Yes. He died.” Illya replied. He was starting to get a faraway look in his eyes. Napoleon didn’t like to see Illya in a blind rage but his periods of melancholy were much worse. His anger could blow out in minutes whilst his low moods could stay with him for weeks.

“Hey, does anyone feel like a walk this afternoon? I’m starting to get cabin fever and I’m sure the views around here are just spectacular.” Napoleon suggested.

“That sounds lovely.” Elspeth put in, smiling at him. There was a general murmur of agreement around the table.

A half an hour later most of the house party were making their way down the drive. Major Eldon, the Dowager Duchess and Hugo had opted to stay behind. Hugo had some estate accounts to attend to before Christmas, the Dowager declared she’d rather be somewhere warm all afternoon and Major Eldon had fallen asleep in a chair immediately after lunch.

Tobias had dragged Francesca off out in front of the group, rather obviously determined to get his future wife as far away from Illya as possible. Doctor Ludgrove, Caroline and Elspeth walked in a little group behind them, whilst the Doctor apparently gave an impromptu lecture on the forest they were walking through. Surprisingly, the Jesmond couple had also decided to take in the air, walking arm in arm, if a little stiffly.

Napoleon and Illya were at the back and therefore able to watch everyone in front of them. Or at least that was what Napoleon was trying to do. Illya seemed rather distracted.

“Are you alright?” Napoleon asked him, sotto voce.

Illya nodded. “Yes. Sorry.”

“I’m sorry that Francesca made you think about… things.” Napoleon winced slightly.

He very clearly recalled the day he and Illya had met properly and Napoleon had bluntly laid out all the gory details of Illya’s difficult past with the sole intention of trying to wound him. It was infinitely worse than Francesca’s rather innocent questioning. He wondered if Illya remembered Napoleon laying out his father’s shame and his mother’s abuse and then decided that of course he did. Illya rarely forgot anything.

“Is alright. Thank you for deflecting.” Illya replied.

“It was nothing.”

“No. It was kind of you. Thank you.”

“Well. Alright then.” Napoleon didn’t know what else to say.

They walked along in a silence that wasn’t entirely easy. Napoleon noted that the silences between them hadn’t been comfortable in long while. He wondered when that had begun and why.

“Keep up, slowcoaches!” Tobias called from the front of the group.

The path they were taking veered off into the forest. Either side of them were thick spruces their boughs laden with frosted snow. It was undeniably a very pretty sight like something from a Christmas card. Napoleon glanced at Illya to see if the view was cheering him up. Illya was staring straight ahead.

“Now these spruces are very healthy- not like the ancient forest on the other side of the hill-” Napoleon heard Doctor Ludgrove say.

“It’s freezing out here.” Mrs Jesmond hissed at her husband.

“I say- what’s that?” Elspeth asked, pointing to something at the bottom of a nearby spruce. It looked to be some sort of fabric bag that had been partly shoved under the tree. Everyone began moving closer to the tree, with Tobias once again striding out in front.

“Someone’s lost their coat, that’s all!” Tobias sneered, as he pulled on the fabric. A man’s arm flopped onto the snow as Tobias’s hard yank dislodged the frozen body from it’s resting place.

Francesca let out a short scream. Elspeth covered her mouth and pulled Caroline behind her to block her view. Doctor Ludgrove pushed his spectacles up his nose and swallowed. The Jesmond’s looked ill. Napoleon looked at Illya to find him looking grimly back.

The victim had evidently been there for a couple of days judging by just how frozen he was. His skin was blue and mottled his face fixed in a contortion of horror. He was about middle aged dressed in a suit and a smartish woollen overcoat. If he’d worn a hat over his thinning hair, he’d lost it at some point. He also had a small bullet wound right in the centre of his forehead. Napoleon was rather grateful that the body had rolled over in such a manner that they hadn’t been confronted with the exit wound.

“Well,” Napoleon said in a low voice to Illya, “so much for a restful holiday.”


	3. Chapter Three

Illya volunteered them to stay with the body. Napoleon would have given anything to traipse back to the house with the rest of the group, even with Francesca wailing like a fire engine. He couldn’t feel his feet and he really didn’t like corpses. Not that anyone particularly liked corpses at the best of times, but this victim had died with his eyes open with his glassy, empty stare frozen in place. It was deeply unpleasant.

Illya had begun rifling through the man’s pockets almost as soon as the rest of the party were a reasonable distance away. He quickly found a wallet and a driver’s licence.

“Michael Bennet.” Illya read after flipping open the license. He handed Napoleon the wallet and continued his search. Napoleon discovered a few pound notes and some change, as well as a membership card for Malton Gun Club, and a photograph of a squinting woman standing on a beach wearing a bikini. Someone, perhaps had Bennet himself, had written ‘Linda, Scarborough 1953’ on the back of the photo in ballpoint pen.

“Poor Linda.” Napoleon said.

Illya glanced up from where he was crouching over Bennet’s body. Napoleon showed him the photograph and Illya sighed.

“Trust you to find pornography.” He muttered darkly.

“It isn’t pornography! It’s a nice photograph; probably of his wife. Don’t be unkind Peril.” Napoleon insisted.

Illya gave him an odd look which gradually softened into something like contrition.

“You are right. Probably should not jump to conclusion that everyone we find dead deserved to be killed.”

“It is a mind-set that is hard to get out of.” Napoleon conceded.

Illya pulled an envelope out of Bennet’s pocket. It had been roughly torn open and the contents stuffed back inside. He pulled the letter out and something dropped onto the snow. He bent to retrieve it, looked at the picture and then turned it over wordlessly to show Napoleon.

“Ah.” Napoleon said.

“My thought exactly.” Illya replied.

The photograph was a slightly out of focus black and white picture of Leopold Jesmond. It was fairly obvious the subject of the picture had no idea he was being photographed. Napoleon squinted at the photo trying to make out the details.

“It looks like he’s leaving a – nightclub?”

“Casino.” Illya corrected. He was reading the letter his eyes skimming quickly over the contents. “Seems he owed a lot of money. Mr Bennet was meant to come here ask for it back.”

Illya frowned and crouched down again. He pulled at the cuff of Martin Bennet’s trouser leg, exposing his ankle. Or rather exposing the small gauge pistol attached to his ankle by a cheap looking holster.

Napoleon sighed. “So whoever killed this man is probably our agent. Was it Jesmond though?”

Illya shook his head slightly a line forming between his brows. “Does not- what use is gambling architect to THRUSH?”

Napoleon shrugged. “Maybe they offered to pay his debts for him.”

“Then why does his wife drink so?”

“Maybe she’s just an alcoholic?” Napoleon offered.

Illya stood, dusting snow off his knees. “Perhaps. But if Jesmond is THRUSH then this is- very inefficient. Left body for discovery with his picture still in pocket?”

“That would be very stupid of him, yes. But we can at least link him to the body.” Napoleon rubbed his gloved hand through his hair, dishevelling it even further.

Illya nodded. “So should we leave all of this for police to find?”

Napoleon bit his lip. “We know that THRUSH have some Metropolitan Police officers in their pay- supposing they’ve branched out to the provinces? If Jesmond is our agent and they arrest him he could be out and spirited away within hours.”

Illya considered this. “Take photograph and letter leave the gun?”

“And set up a little meeting with Leopold Jesmond.” Napoleon finished.

Illya gave him a little smile and set about straightening up Bennet’s clothing, putting everything, save for the letter and photograph, back where he found it. For the first time in days Napoleon felt that he and Illya were on an equal and more comfortable footing. Even in the early days, when they had every reason to hate each other, they had worked well together. Messy and unconventional but they got the job done to their satisfaction.

“We will have to stay until police arrive. I can wait if you are too cold.” Illya offered.

“I’m alright.” Napoleon insisted.

“Your ears are pink.”

“Well, I’m not warm but I’m not going to leave you out here on your own.”

Illya rolled his eyes. “Whoever killed this man did it days ago, he is not still out here. Unless he is a bear with a gun they would have died of exposure days ago.”

“Everyone would think it odd if I left you alone with a dead body. They don’t know we’re used to this.” Napoleon pointed out.

Illya shrugged conceding the point. He took off his ubiquitous paperboy hat and offered it to Napoleon. Napoleon looked at it a little blankly.

“I don’t think it suits me as well as it does you Peril.”

“Your head is cold. You need a hat.” Illya replied.

“But if I take your hat then your head will get cold and you will need a hat.” Napoleon said.

“Put the hat on Cowboy.” Illya didn’t rise to Napoleon’s baiting.

Napoleon put the slightly too large hat on, tucking the tops of his ears under the brim. He immediately started to feel the benefit and found Illya looking at him with a slightly smug expression.

“You see?” Illya said his eyes bright and amused. Napoleon’s heart stuttered a little in his chest.

“Thank you for the hat, Illya.” Napoleon replied earnestly.

Illya nodded his expression becoming more serious.

“Should also keep moving. Stamp your feet.” His gaze skittered away from Napoleon and just like that awkward distance between them returned.

Napoleon wasn’t sure why that kept happening. He didn’t think Illya could be aware of his feelings- if he was he wouldn’t have let Napoleon spend two nights in his bed. And yet he could feel Illya pulling away from him.

Napoleon was just about to open his mouth to posit some wild speculations on the murder simply to have something to say, when they both heard the distant wail of a police siren.

* * *

The police were stupid.

Napoleon supposed he was being unfair, and that he had been biased against them ever since Inspector Graham Riley had heard ‘Vitaly’s’ accent and immediately become incredibly hostile towards him. It had taken the Dowager’s intervention to stop Riley from arresting Illya simply for being Russian.

“Don’t be so rude to my guest Inspector Riley!” The Dowager had cried when the police had brought them back to the hall. “Mr Ivanovich is a delightful young man and only arrived two days ago. You yourself said that the poor fellow outside had been there longer than that.”

“Yes, well. There’s always the possibility that he came here earlier and did away with the gentleman-” Inspector Riley’s large bald head had begun to gleam with perspiration under the gimlet eye of the Dowager.

“And then left him here for us to find? Don’t be absurd.” She declared.

Inspector Riley had gone pink and had glared at Illya but had said nothing more on the matter. Michael Bennet’s body had been taken away and the police had imparted no information to the household gathering other than that they should keep the doors and windows locked at night and not go outside alone.

“Most comforting.” Hugo had declared after Riley and his officers had left. By that time it was early evening. Francesca had gone to bed her nerves fairly shattered. Mrs Jesmond was nursing a large brandy on one of the plush sofas in the living room with her husband sitting next to her looking rather white faced . Elspeth, Caroline, and Doctor Ludgrove were being subjected to Major Ludgrove’s theories on why the man had been murdered whilst Tobias was egging him on.

“Well, he could certainly have been a spy.” The Major insisted giving Illya a sharp look.

“A spy? Here? Don’t be ridiculous.” Napoleon replied trying to keep his voice fairly light and carefree. He longed for a large glass of brandy himself.

“I know you artistic airheads don’t know the first thing about international politics but mark my words that man will have been some anti-establishment Bolshevik.” The Major declared.

“You’re right, Father. Sneaking about in the woods.” Tobias chimed in.

“So it’s just fine someone murdered him?” Doctor Ludgrove asked sharply.

Napoleon blinked. He hadn’t heard the Doctor so much as raise his voice in a party game before.

“Well. Foreign spies must be dealt with-” Tobias began.

“You don’t know a bloody thing. You’re too young to remember the war-” Ludgrove cut himself off.

“What has that got to do with anything?” Tobias asked obviously annoyed at the doctor’s outburst.

Doctor Ludgrove tried to form an answer but he was clearly much too distressed.

“It means” Illya said, “you have seen one dead body. To you it is a novelty. To men who have been in wars it is reminder of everything they have seen before.”

“Yes. Yes, that’s it.” Doctor Ludgrove looked at Illya with a grateful expression.

“And what would you know about anything?” Major Eldon asked sharply.

Illya shrugged. “Is just what I have heard from men who have fought.”

 _From me_. Napoleon thought.

He suddenly remembered being in Cairo months before, with his head lolling against the edge of a sink.

Illya had been standing over him with an iodine soaked pad of cotton wool gently swabbing at a bullet graze on his bicep. They had suffered through a bad day- a small bomb had gone off in a market place killing a dozen civilians and then there had been THRUSH agents everywhere shooting at them. Illya had somehow managed to get them out whilst Napoleon had become completely useless.

_“I thought I was in Berlin.” Napoleon said._

_Illya frowned at him. “We are in Egypt.”_

_“I know, but- bombs and dead bodies on city streets. Every time I see them I end up back in Berlin. Seeing everything again.” Napoleon slurred shutting his eyes. It was too hot and Illya was too close and his arm hurt._

_He felt the briefest touch of Illya’s fingers against his cheek and he instinctively pressed his face into their warmth._

_“Stay awake Cowboy.” Illya chided gently._

Napoleon hadn’t known that Illya even remembered that conversation. He didn’t think Illya paid much attention to him when he was injured and rambling but apparently he did.

“Yes, Vitaly is right. And for that reason I’m very grateful I didn’t see anything.” Hugo put in. He patted Doctor Ludgrove on the shoulder. “Monte Cassino isn’t something I like to remember either, Phil.”

The Duke’s words had a quelling effect on the Major and Tobias. Neither of them seemed particularly repentant but they shut up, which was the desired effect. The unsurprisingly subdued mood continued throughout the modest dinner of soup and sandwiches. It was agreed by general consensus that everyone should get an early night.

Illya gave Napoleon a significant look as they left the dining room. Rather than going upstairs Illya set off towards the library so Napoleon followed him.

“Have agreed to speak to Hugo at 10:30 pm in his study.” Illya said in an undertone as they reached the large room. Moonlight spilled in through the windows lighting Illya’s pensive face. “ We have just over half an hour. But I don’t know what we should tell him.”

“Well. First of all we don’t know that Leopold Jesmond _is_ dangerous. But that means someone else in the household has the _potential_ to be dangerous- _if_ Bennet was murdered by a THRUSH agent and was not _himself_ a THRUSH agent. Or perhaps none of this has anything to do with our problem at all in which case-” Napoleon sighed. “In which case we just have a dead body on our hands and no answers.”

Illya nodded. “So what do we say?”

Napoleon huffed out a laugh. “That our enquiries are ongoing?” he suggested, quoting the feeble phrase Inspector Riley had come out with earlier.

Illya gave him a brief smile. “Was thinking that we would promise to keep household safe.”

“That too.”

They left the library, intending to head to the Duke’s office, when Illya suddenly touched Napoleon’s arm and pointed silently down the corridor towards the main hallway. Napoleon turned to see Elspeth Johnson in the hallway, crouching over the telephone and speaking in a low voice.

“There’s a telephone in Hugo’s study, I bet it’s the same line.” Napoleon whispered.

The Duke’s office was unlocked and Napoleon was a master of lifting telephones out of cradles without making a sound. He raised the receiver holding it so that both he and Illya could listen in.

“It’s much too dangerous right now. And not just because of the snow.” Elspeth was saying in a soothing voice.

Illya raised an eyebrow.

“I’m five miles away. I can put on a pair of cross country skies and I’ll be there in half a day. Less!” A young woman on the other end of the line insisted.

“And what will your parents think if you run away at Christmas?”

“I’m twenty five years old and it’s their own bloody fault. They wouldn’t invite you but they did invite a whole parade of twits they want me to marry. Ostensibly my idiot brother’s more idiotic friends, but-”

“I know, darling, believe me.”

The woman sighed. “I do. Maybe I should just tell them? The way you did-”

“No.” Elspeth said flatly.

“Well why not?”

“My father won’t speak to me and my mother recently sent me a letter saying she wished that I had died in the war and not David. Do you think I want to put you through that, Anna?”

Napoleon was beginning to get the distinct impression that they weren’t going to hear anything pertinent to their case and were in fact hearing a lot of things they shouldn’t.

“But I love you! And they are going to find out soon. I’m moving in with you next month-”

“Then maybe, as a Christmas present, you should give them one last month of thinking you’re normal.” Elspeth said cutting over Anna’s plea.

The line went quiet. Napoleon winced.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Elspeth said in a much quieter voice.

“I know. I’m sorry. None of this is easy and I keep pushing and complaining. I just miss you.”

“And I you. But it’s only another week or so and then we’ll be back in Bloomsbury and you can write a play about your terrible Christmas.” Elspeth suggested.

Anna laughed. “And how’s your terrible Christmas? Anything much happened?”

There was a slight pause. “Not really. Some interesting guests.”

“Oh yes?”

“Well there’s the usual- the horrid Eldon men and Tobias’ dim fiancé and sweet Caro. Phil Ludgrove who teaches at Kings, of course. And then there’s this straight couple who absolutely loathe each other. She drinks and he looks like he wants to throw her out of a window.”

“Christ.”

“I know! And then Hugo invited an American artist and his Russian lover to stay and they are such a pair. I can’t tell if they’ve been married for years or have just started, they’re honestly the most bewildering pair of homosexuals-”

Napoleon hastily set the receiver down hoping he wasn’t too red in the face.

“So at least we know that Elspeth isn’t a spy. She’s just been telephoning her- er-”

“Her lover.” Illya supplied.

Napoleon looked up at Illya, who looked remarkably calm. Almost as if he listened to telephone calls where he was accused of being a sodomite all the time.

“As you say.” Napoleon agreed.

They were still standing very close together. Illya had only switched on Hugo’s desk lamp and in the warm, low light Illya looked devastatingly handsome. Napoleon felt himself giving in to the urge to do something incredibly stupid and he began to shift closer.

Illya watched him closely but didn’t pull away. In fact he seemed to be angling towards Napoleon setting one hand down on the desk next to where Napoleon’s own hand rested. Napoleon lifted his eyes to Illya’s and their gazes locked. Illya was so close Napoleon could feel his breath on his cheek, the warmth of his body. Napoleon only had to move forward a couple of inches to finally close the space between them.

“Napoleon.” Illya said, his voice even lower than usual, his accent thicker. Electricity slid down Napoleon’s spine as he watched Illya watching him.

Abruptly, Illya moved away from him, leaving Napoleon momentarily bereft until the office door swung open.

“Oh! You’re already here.” Hugo said switching the main light on.

Evidently Illya had still had enough of his wits about him to hear the Duke coming. Napoleon probably wouldn’t have heard the Red Army charging to break the door down if he was anticipating being kissed by Illya Kuryakin.

“Take a seat.” The Duke said politely. If he thought it was odd he’d found the pair of them standing in his office in very low light he didn’t say anything.

Illya broke the news about Michael Bennet and Leopold Jesmond. Hugo looked troubled.

“A gambler? I had no idea. And how sad; he really is quite a brilliant architect. He did some work on the Dower House just down the hill there, an astonishingly hardworking chap. And she comes from money. Her father owns a shipyard on the Tyne.”

At least that explained Mrs Jesmond’s drunken statements about marrying for money.  But rather than herself she believed her husband to be the gold digger.

“If it would be possible we would like to use this room to speak to Mr Jesmond tomorrow-”

Napoleon tried to listen as Illya offered his reassurances that they would keep everyone safe but his mind kept straying back to the little scene just before Hugo had entered the room.

Illya hardly ever used his given name except in moments of extremis. Several times Napoleon had come back to groggy consciousness to hear Illya using his Christian name to bring him round. Similarly Napoleon rarely called Illya anything other than the variety of nicknames he’d bestowed on him.

The way Illya had said his name before... it had been confiding. _Intimate_. Or had that been Napoleon’s imagination? Had he just been about to tell Napoleon that the Duke was coming and would he please stop leaning on a very expensive antique walnut desk lest it displease His Grace to see it?

“-and I would like to telephone our contact back in London.” Illya said as Napoleon tuned back in.

“Ah, yes of course. Would you like to do it now?”

“Would not risk waking her up for my life.” Illya declared with a fond smile on his lips.

Napoleon’s heart sank. Only Gaby could make Illya smile like that and Napoleon would do well not to forget it.

They bade the Duke goodnight after assuring him that they would speak to both UNCLE and Leopold Jesmond in the morning. They made it back to their rooms without incident whereupon Illya marched into the Violet Suite and announced that Napoleon couldn’t stay in there.

“Illya-”

“Two nights of broken sleep is enough, Cowboy. And now we have murderer on the loose. Is not safe to sleep alone.” Illya was very nearly smiling when he declared all of this and Napoleon stamped down on any notion of his finding it endearing.

Besides, Napoleon wanted to argue it felt a lot safer to sleep on his own than to wake up in Illya’s accidental embrace again.

“And the ghost will not leave you be-”

“There isn’t a ghost!”  Napoleon insisted, cutting Illya off.

The wardrobe door rattled. Illya’s head whipped around and he glared at it, as if he were trying to quell the sound.

“Even if there is not, there is very likely a murderer and I am the one who brought his weaponry.” Illya pointed out.

“You’re really trying very hard to get me into bed, Peril. Is it normally this difficult for you?” Napoleon asked, his tone mocking.

His barb hit its mark effortlessly. Illya’s almost happy expression dimmed considerably.

“I have not tried.” He replied falteringly.

“Yeah, well your manners need some work. You aren’t going to impress anyone if you’re just ordering them around all the time.” Napoleon drawled, pushing away the nagging feeling that if given the chance, he would quite happily follow any orders Illya chose to give him in the bedroom.

Illya looked confused and rather hurt. Napoleon bit back the urge to apologise, instead going to the dresser and pulling out his pyjamas.

“But you’re probably right. If someone wants to murder me in my sleep, better I’m next to the Russian Battering Ram.” Napoleon swept passed Illya into the adjoining room.

He changed quickly in the Red Room facing the fire with his back to Illya. He was utterly determined, after the evening’s crushing disappointment, that the first thing he was going to do when he got back to London was go out and find someone to take his mind of Illya Kuryakin.

 He was Napoleon Solo, international lothario and art thief, not some love sick calf who waited around for clueless heterosexual men to throw him crumbs of attention. Illya was in love with Gaby and had been since Rome. Possibly even since Berlin. Napoleon had to stop deluding himself or he would go crazy.

He could feel Illya staring at his back and he swung round quickly.

“What?” He asked sharply.

Illya blinked back at him.

“I thought-” Illya’s eyes had gone very wide in the firelight.

“You thought what?” Napoleon asked, tiredly. He was suddenly very tired of the whole useless dance. Even if he found someone else they wouldn’t be Illya and that would always be a problem.

Illya looked at the floor. “Nothing. Is not important.”

“So you brought guns with you then?” Napoleon asked because at least that was practical.

“Yes. Brought several.  A couple Browning Hi-Power and a Luger rifle- just in case.” Illya said, his voice flat as if he were filling in a rather dull report.

“Excellent. We’ll probably need to be tooled up when we go and speak to Jesmond. Let him know we’re serious. And even if he isn’t our spy he’ll probably be so frightened by the guns that he’ll behave himself and keep his mouth shut.” Napoleon replied.

“Is good plan.” Illya said, in that same flat monotone.

Napoleon pulled back the sheets on the bed and climbed in. If they got everything done tomorrow, provided Jesmond was there man, they could be out of Yorkshire by the evening. They could get away from the place where Napoleon had almost humiliated himself irredeemably.

It took him a couple of minutes to realise that he was decidedly alone in the massive bed. He sat up and was greeted by the sight of Illya Kuryakin trying to make himself comfortable in the wingbacked chair by the fireplace. Given his height and size in relation to the chair, it wasn’t a battle he was likely to win.

“What are you doing?” Napoleon asked.

Illya glanced at him and then looked away. “Did not seem happy about sharing bed with me-”

“Jesus Christ, Illya so you’re going to give yourself permanent spine damage just because I’m cranky?” Napoleon asked.

“Wouldn’t make you do something you didn’t want.” Illya said.

“Peril. Get in bed. Don’t be stupid, you’ll wake up stiffer than- you’ll wake up hurting if you sleep there.” Napoleon flopped back on the pillows, resisting the urge to scream.

“You are sure?” Illya asked.

“For the love of- yes. I don’t really want to apprehend a THRUSH agent on my own because you’ve given yourself a cramp.” Napoleon mumbled. He shut his eyes and pushed his face into the pillow.

He felt Illya get into bed next to him and deliberately shifted away from Illya’s warmth.

“Goodnight, Napoleon.” Illya said, quietly.

He was still close despite the distance Napoleon had put between them. Napoleon wanted to reach out and touch him. He balled his fists and shoved his hands under his pillow.

“Goodnight.” He replied.

It took a long while for him to settle and eventually he simply feigned drifting off to sleep. He was too aware of Illya at his side. After a few minutes of pretending to sleep he felt the mattress shift slightly and sensed that Illya was watching him again. Napoleon was just about to crack an eye open and ask him what he was doing, when he felt a very light touch against his cheek. As if Illya had reached out and traced his cheekbone with his finger.

It was over a split second after Napoleon had felt the feather like touch against his skin and Illya rolled over silently. Napoleon lay there for so long trying to remember the sensation that he became convinced he had imagined it even happening.

* * *

 

 

The next morning Napoleon awoke as Illya returned from his morning shower, which was an excellent reason to bid a hasty retreat. After he had fallen into an uneasy sleep he had dreamt about what might have happened if Hugo hadn’t interrupted them in the office and it was frankly a miracle that he hadn’t embarrassed himself all over Illya’s sheets. Seeing Illya’s bare skin made his palms itch with want.

“Good morning.” He mumbled as he stumbled out of the room and into a frigid shower. He didn’t know if Illya had replied.

Breakfast was a sombre affair. Doctor Ludgrove looked exhausted whilst Elspeth and Caroline both looked pensive. Francesca remained rather glassy eyed due to the fact the Dowager had been alarmed by her wailing and given her a rather strong sedative from her own medicine cabinet yesterday afternoon. Major Eldon and Tobias were perhaps the only sanguine members of their little group with the Major holding forth about some nonsense to do with fishing. Napoleon tried not to look at Illya at all.

After breakfast they made their way silently to the Duke’s study. Napoleon wished they had suggested somewhere else for their interview with Leopold Jesmond; he really did not want to be reminded of last night’s almost indiscretion. But there was the desk and the telephone and the lamp that had cast Illya in such a light that Napoleon had lost his mind for a moment or two.

Illya stood to military attention in the centre of the study, apparently not looking at anything. Napoleon was about to make a comment about how he didn’t need to do the toy soldier act when Jesmond wasn’t even in the room but the door opened before he could say anything.

“- if you would just come in here for a moment, Leopold.” Hugo was saying whilst holding the door open and gesturing for the other men to step inside.

Leopold Jesmond stepped trustingly forward at which point Hugo shut the door. Illya stepped forward, locked the door and pocketed the key, effectively trapping Jesmond.

“Hang on, what on earth are you doing?” Jesmond spluttered.

“Take a seat, Mr Jesmond.” Napoleon said politely.

“I shall do no such thing- what is this? Some sort of silly joke?” the man asked going pink in the face with indignation.

“No joke. Sit down before I make you.” Illya said, pressing the barrel of his handgun against Jesmond’s spine.

Napoleon doubted that Illya had even loaded the gun but it convinced Jesmond to take a seat rather quickly.

“I don’t know what funny business this is-” Jesmond began, his pink face paling as Illya stood over him.

“No funny business on our end Leopold but quite a lot on yours wouldn’t you say?” Napoleon said unfolding the letter and placing it, and the photograph, on the desk in front of Jesmond.

“I don’t- I don’t understand where did you get this?” Jesmond asked his voice tight. His hands were shaking.

“From the body of the man we found on our little walk. His name was Michael Bennet and the Black Cat Casino and Bar in Leeds had hired him to come here to persuade you to hand over a little of that fifteen large you owe them. But now he’s quite literally on ice. So you can see our predicament.” Napoleon tapped the photo meaningfully.

“I still don’t- that man wanted to see me? I’ve never seen him before.” Leopold Jesmond’s blonde hair had become damp with fear sweat and his eyes looked suspiciously watery.

Napoleon and Illya exchanged a glance. They weren’t heading back to London that afternoon with Jesmond in leg irons. Either the man was an actor who could give Fonda a run for his money or he was telling the truth.

“And we’re supposed to believe that?” Napoleon put in anyway. It couldn’t hurt.

“I can’t even fire a gun! I swear I wouldn’t- how would it help me? They still want their money, they’ll still come after me. And break my legs or knock my teeth out.” Jesmond said, miserably.

“I can’t argue with that logic.” Napoleon replied.

“Why- why did you search his body? Why not tell the police?” Jesmond asked.

Illya let out a huff and Jesmond flinched.

“Because, Mr Jesmond we’re trying to deal with something far bigger than you owing fifteen thousand pounds to a seedy casino. We need to make sure you aren’t tangled up in that as well.” Napoleon explained his voice cold.

“I swear I’m not!”

“No one has offered to pay your debts in return for information?” Napoleon clarified.

“No.” Jesmond insisted dropping his head into his hands. “I’m a terrible gambler and a rotten husband, but I’m not a traitor, I swear.”

Napoleon rolled his eyes. Men like Jesmond irritated him. They brought all of their misery upon themselves and others around them and then had the gall to pull the ‘woe is me’ act. It was pathetic. If he were Mrs Jesmond he’d drink too.

“I believe him. Does not seem to know enough to be valuable to anyone.” Illya declared, putting his gun back in his ankle holster.

“Yes! I’m not- I mean-” Jesmond looked a little put out with Illya’s assessment of him. Illya leant over Jesmond’s chair.

“And you are right. Are terrible husband. Drive your wife to misery so she drinks. Either leave her alone or become better man.”

Jesmond blinked up at Illya. “I- I’ll try.”

Illya growled something that sounded a bit like the Russian word for idiot and then he stepped away.

“I needn’t explain to you what will happen if you try to tell anyone that we aren’t who we say we are.” Napoleon said. The implication being, of course, that Illya would happen to him.

Jesmond nodded vigorously. “Will you tell the police?”

Napoleon shrugged. “I’ve no desire to see Inspector Riley back here. And if the Black Cat hasn’t reported you then I suppose it’s none of my business.”

“Thank you- thank you, gentlemen. You’re right- I need to sort myself out.” Jesmond stood up and the man looked so pathetically grateful that Napoleon gave him a small smile.

“Keep out of trouble.” Napoleon said. Illya unlocked the door and Jesmond all but bolted from the room.

Napoleon flopped down onto Hugo’s desk chair. “One step forwards, three steps back. If this were an Agatha Christie there’d be another dead body by now.”

“Let us count our blessings.” Illya said.

“Hmm. I didn’t know you were such a romantic, Peril.” Napoleon said. He regretted it the second it left his lips but he could hardly take it back.

Illya’s ramrod spine stiffened further and he turned to Napoleon with an incredibly pained expression on his face.

“What?” he asked, his voice strangely hoarse.

“Don’t get all defensive on me. I’m just saying that little pep talk you gave to Jesmond it was very inspiring.” Napoleon said after casting around for the right word.

Illya rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You live to confuse me Cowboy.”

Napoleon frowned. “I don’t. Do I?”

“Are most confusing man I have ever met.” Illya said and he did not sound happy about it. In fact he sounded borderline miserable.

Napoleon had no idea why Illya might be feeling miserable. Napoleon was the one who had tried to launch himself lips first at his unsuspecting partner last night. It probably wasn't something he was smart enough to figure out.

“You should telephone Gaby.” Napoleon said standing up.

“Yes. Will ask for any new information.” Illya perched on the edge of the desk and began entering the number on the dial.

“Give her my love.” Napoleon said.

Illya nodded.

Napoleon took a deep breath.

“Peril?”

Illya looked up.

“You should really think about giving her your love, too.”

Napoleon turned and left the room quickly, but not before he saw the stunned expression settle on Illya’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some factual stuff:  
> The U.K. has strict handgun laws thanks to legislative action after Dunblane School Massacre and the Hungerford Massacre, but back in the 1960s small gun clubs were common.  
> The Metropolitan Police Service refers to the force that works within Greater London, which is why Napoleon makes the distinction between them and 'provincial' police services.  
> Monte Cassino was a costly and gruelling series of battles in WWII.  
> The phrase gold digger was first used in print 1901! Who knew! (I did.)
> 
> Thank you for the kind comments! This is the first thing I've written in a while and I hope the plot is interesting enough to keep you going.


	4. Chapter Four

Napoleon walked hastily away from the study after closing the door on Illya. He found that his feet were taking him towards the library, and that was probably as good a place as any to go. He could sit quietly and read something and pretend he wasn’t going insane.

Napoleon was assailed by a vision of Illya on the telephone to Gaby listening to her speak fondly. Then he would tuck the ‘phone under his ear and become serious, shyly ducking his head…

_“Cowboy has suggested that I tell you something…”_

The thought made him cringe. He would have to ask for a transfer. They would probably be married within in a year and then there would be babies. Napoleon tried to imagine dandling Illya’s child on his knee, tried to imagine being happy for them. He couldn’t, so it was much better that he left before his bitterness destroyed everything between them.

He pushed open the library door. Caroline was back at the desk again, poring over books and writing notes in a tiny precise hand. She glanced up and smiled at him, pushing her spectacles back up her nose.

“Hello.” She said, quietly.

Napoleon smiled back. “Getting away from it all and relaxing, huh?” He remarked, picking up one of her textbooks. His eyebrows shot up when he realised what she was studying.

“With a little light reading about nuclear fission? I thought you were helping Dr. Ludgrove, I didn’t know you were interested in this stuff.”

 “What? Heavens, no. Phil’s results are jolly interesting and everything but the process? It takes months. I’m much more interested in faster moving sciences.” Caroline declared.

A prickle of concern formed in the back of Napoleon’s mind. He took a seat opposite Caroline.

“So, uh- you aren’t at university yet?”

Caroline fiddled with her pen. “No.”

“And yet- you have a lot of books here. I’m assuming these didn’t come out of Hugo’s library, seeing as they’re not about ancient land tracts or nineteenth century literature.”

Caroline blinked at him. “Yes, well- can you keep a secret?”

Boy. Could he ever.

“Sure.” He said smiling, his most ingratiating smile.

“I’ve been helping out at research labs since I left school. One of my old teachers knows all about my situation- how I’m stuck with Father until I can access the money Mummy left me when I’m twenty one. So she helped me find a job being useful. Father thinks I’m volunteering in a library. Anyway, recently I was… I suppose I was approached.”

The prickle of concern was growing into a fully-fledged thorn.

“Approached?” Napoleon nudged.

“Yes. A man and a woman. They offered me tutelage. I thought at first one of the professors at the lab had put me forward for some kind of scheme but-” Caroline frowned. “The more I think of it it is quite odd isn’t it?”

Napoleon had to agree. But he could also the appeal of it to Caroline. Being offered the chance of a university course she so desperately wanted to do, with the confirmation that it would be a secret, must have seemed perfect to her. He remembered being a desperate teenager wanting to get away from the life he was living. It was how he’d found himself in Nazi Germany. Lord knew if someone had offered him money and a chance to study he would have bitten their hand off back then without asking too many questions.

“These people- did they say who they worked for?” Napoleon asked.

Caroline shook her head. “I assumed a university.”

“I don’t think they are linked to a university.” Napoleon said.

Caroline’s eyes widened. “But- how would you know?”

“Look, I might be some dumb artist but I’ve never heard of a university opening its coffers to a kid who isn’t even studying there. I assume when you met these people you were alone?”

Caroline nodded. “Yes. Always- oh, except once. They came to the house in Harrogate when Toby was staying.”

“Do they have names?”

“Mrs Jones and Mr Smith.”

Utterly generic and untraceable, with no first names. A classic THRUSH move.

“Caroline- I think these people aren’t good people. I think you’ve gotten yourself caught up in something dangerous.” Napoleon said.

Caroline bit her lip. “Is it something to do with the man who died?”

Napoleon sighed. “I don’t know.”

Caroline paled. “But I- I swear I didn’t know! I wouldn’t- I haven’t given them any of the information they wanted!”

“They wanted information. I assume from the labs you’ve been working in?”

Caroline buried her face in her hands. “Classified information. They said it would just speed up the exchange of ideas I didn’t- Nathan, I swear I didn’t tell them anything.”

“Did you give them any of your research?”

“No! Oh God, I’m such an idiot- ”

“No- they are very good at exploiting people. This isn’t a reflection on you. Everyone has weaknesses.”

Caroline looked up at him gratefully and then her gaze turned speculative. “You aren’t an artist are you? I mean you are. But you and Mr Ivanovich-”

The library door opened and Major Eldon stepped inside. Caroline froze.

“There you are! What are you doing sitting in here? It’s Christmas Eve!” he boomed.

Napoleon had forgotten both the date and that Mrs Jesmond wasn’t the only member of the household to have a drinking problem. The Major’s cheeks were glowing and he was carrying a near to brimming glass of whisky.

“I was just doing some reading, Father.” Caroline said.

“Hmph. Shouldn’t be reading should be trying to find yourself a husband, gel. Not going to find one sitting in here with this poofter.” The Major slurred.

Napoleon raised his eyebrows as Caroline let out a little gasp.

“Father, that’s incredibly rude.”

The Major ignored her and took a faltering step towards Napoleon.

“Where’s your big Russian now, eh?” he mocked.

“Oh, I don’t know, Major, perhaps he’s waiting in bed for me?” Napoleon suggested. He immediately regretted it. The thought was far too bittersweet.

Major Eldon sneered at him. “Disgusting.”

“Well, you’d know wouldn’t you?” Napoleon said.

The Major blinked at him and then smiled. “You know he killed that man. We both do. And when I see that Bolshie on his own I’m going to sort him out.”

“Stop it!” Caroline shouted. The Major turned and stared at her.

“You aren’t going to do a single thing to Mr Ivanovich and you know it! Stop being such a- such a-”

“Prick?” Napoleon suggested, just to see what colour the Major’s face would go.

The Major may have been drunk but he had a vague idea of where Napoleon was standing. His fist hit Napoleon’s cheekbone with surprising speed but not very much finesse. It hurt, but Napoleon had been punched by better.

Caroline yelped and the Major tottered and Napoleon bit back the urge to laugh at yet another absurd display. The library doors swung open again and this time the Dowager entered followed by a very angry looking Illya.

“Peregrine! Get yourself up to bed immediately.” The Dowager said, coldly.

The Major lurched to the side and then stumbled from the room. Illya was at Napoleon’s side.

“Are you alright? Did he hurt you?” Illya touched Napoleon’s arm. Napoleon resisted the urge to pull away.

“I’m fine. He barely touched me.”

“I’m so sorry, Nathan. And to you, Aunt Emmeline, I don’t know-”

“You don’t need to apologise for your father’s behaviour Caroline and you certainly don’t want to start or else it will become a bad habit. Let’s go and get you some tea.” The Dowager put her arm around Caroline and led her out of the library.

 Caroline turned her head and looked solemnly back at Napoleon. He tried to give her a reassuring smile but it hurt his cheek. The door swung shut leaving Napoleon and Illya alone. Illya was staring at him so intensely Napoleon wondered how his eyes weren’t watering.

“Cowboy-” Illya began but Napoleon cut him off.

“THRUSH have been grooming Caroline. I think they want her for research or to be a mole; not an active agent. They offered her access to university level textbooks and I think they probably also offered to fund some research. But she claims not to have done any work for them yet and I believe her. So we’re still not any closer to knowing why someone killed Michael Bennet but maybe we’ll never know. Anyway we should probably take her in for questioning?” Napoleon knew that Illya didn’t like it when he spoke at breakneck speed but he couldn’t actually stop himself.

“Napoleon-” Illya began again folding his arms. Again Napoleon butted in.

“What did Gaby say? About the mission.” Napoleon quickly clarified.

Illya sighed. It wasn’t his usual sigh of irritation, but more a world weary sigh of resignation.

“Gaby says that have received two new pieces of intelligence. One is that the alleged THRUSH agent sent a message a few days ago saying that they had apprehended ‘and dealt with’ a spy at Castle Bellamy. In same message agent claimed to have acquired a house for THRUSH purposes.”

“A house?”

“In London.”

That tickled something in Napoleon’s brain but he couldn’t quite place what it was.

“Interesting. And whoever killed Michael Bennet thought they were murdering a spy.”

“Napoleon, we need to talk.” Illya said in a voice that brooked no argument.

But Napoleon had never been one to avoid conflicts.

“Do we? I mean. We have a spy running around here I don’t think now is time for a tête-à-tête.” Napoleon remarked.

Illya let out a grunt of annoyance and grabbed Napoleon’s arms effectively holding him still.

“Will you, for once, just listen-”

This time Illya wasn’t cut off by Napoleon, but by the violent crack of shotgun fire outside.

They exchanged a glance before they both set off for the main hallway.

“Everyone stay inside!” Illya said, as various members of the household worriedly gathered in the vestibule. Napoleon was pulling his boots on and Illya was shrugging on his winter coat.

“What on earth is going on now?” Elspeth asked. Doctor Ludgrove flinched as another gunshot was let off.

“Not sure, but Vitaly and I will go and check it out. Do as he says- stay inside everyone and keep away from the windows alright?”

Elspeth nodded. “Keep safe.”

“I’s nowhere near the shooting season!” The Major declared indignantly, as Napoleon closed the front door behind himself and Illya.

Outside was eerily quiet as a light snow was beginning to fall from a heavy grey sky. Sound seemed to be slightly muffled by the weather, but Napoleon thought he could hear voices in the trees beyond the formal garden.

“You still have your gun?” Illya asked.

“No, I ate it.” Napoleon replied rolling his eyes.

Illya sighed again. “Fine. Good.”

They walked silently towards the cover of the woods. As they approached, Napoleon was able to hear the loud yet indistinct voices of a man and a woman arguing. Illya glanced at him as they reached the thicket of trees. Instinctively, they both ducked low and drew their guns as the argument became louder and the words decipherable.

“Don’t- Charlotte for God’s sake!” cried Leopold Jesmond.

They had come across the sight of a very angry Mrs Jesmond holding a shotgun. Her long hair was tumbled down over her shoulders and she wore no make-up. Her oversized fur coat made her look even more like a furious and cornered wild animal. Her hands shook as she broke the barrel and reloaded the gun.

She hadn’t spotted Napoleon and Illya where they were crouched behind some rough shrubbery. Nor had her husband, who was entirely focussed on the shotgun in his wife’s hands.

“Deares,t-” Leopold began.

“Don’t you dare ‘dearest’ me! After everything we’ve been through- everything- you tell me you’re leaving and expect me to take it lying down?” Mrs Jesmond roared.

“I- it’s for the best. I’m not good at making you happy-”

“You don’t try! You just scuttle off to one of your girlfriends-”

“I don’t have any girlfriends! Only you darling it’s only ever been you.” Leopold insisted, taking a step towards his wife.

“But you don’t want me. You don’t even look at me.” Mrs Jesmond said, miserably.

“Charlotte- I don’t deserve you.” Leopold said.

“Just tell me what’s wrong! You won’t talk to me and I end up making scenes!”

“Yes well. Stealing one of the Duke’s guns was a way of getting my attention.” Leopold said.

Napoleon couldn’t help feeling that the Jesmonds were probably pretty well matched. Leopold seemed utterly charmed by this behaviour. Illya’s jaw was tight with tension and probably annoyance. For a brief moment it looked like their mission might be nearing its end; now it looked as if they were in the middle of a romantic melodrama.

“I just want to know what’s happening.”  She pleaded.

Napoleon stood up. Illya made a grab for him but he neatly dodged him. He had seen enough ridiculously overblown scenes in the last couple of days, he’d even participated in a few, and he wasn’t about to let another play out.

“Well, Mrs Jesmond” Napoleon said stepping into the clearing. “Your husband owes a considerable amount of money to a gambling joint and is probably too embarrassed to tell you.”

Charlotte Jesmond had swung the gun towards Napoleon. Napoleon held up his empty hands, his gun safely stowed away in his pocket.

“How do you know that?” she asked him.

“Oh, I overheard him on the ‘phone the other night. Talking about how he isn’t worthy of you, and how he doesn’t deserve your help. He even mentioned that if your father found out he’d want you to file for divorce- the poor guy sounded pretty miserable.” Napoleon lied, smoothly.

“That’s what this is about? Money?” Charlotte shouted at Leopold.

“Dearest-”

“You stupid bloody man! You can have money. There’s always money you idiot! My father probably does make it grow on trees. That’s all I’ve ever had. Money. And then you came along and I thought maybe I had something more. But you’re going to leave me aren’t you?” Charlotte said, her eyes filling with tears.

Leopold took a step forward and then another. Then he was pulling Charlotte into his arms gun and all.

“Of course not, my love. I could never willingly walk away from you.”

Napoleon didn’t exactly want to witness any heavy petting but it was rather a relief that a THRUSH agent hadn’t gone rogue in the woods. Just a bit of a domestic crisis between two rather highly strung individuals.

In fact the whole situation would have resolved itself quite nicely if Charlotte hadn’t dropped the loaded shotgun on the ground in her desperation to have a proper reunion with her husband.

Inevitably, the gun went off. Also, rather inevitably, it went off in the general direction of Napoleon. He leapt out of the way missed the spray of shot for the most part but did strike the back of his head against a tree.

The next few minutes were a blur. He heard quite a bit of shouting some of it in Russian and then quiet. He felt a warm hand against his unbruised cheek.

“Napoleon? Are you alright?”

Napoleon opened his eyes. Illya was crouched down next to him. The Jesmonds were nowhere in evidence but the shotgun was still lying in the snow.

“Yeah- hit my head a little but I’m good.”

Illya’s face was set. “Thought that stupid woman had shot you.”

“Not stupid. Just in love.” Napoleon pointed out.

“Same thing.” Illya sniffed.

Napoleon opened his eyes properly. He found that Illya had leaned him against a tree. His backside was uncomfortably cold but there was still a warm hand on his face, so at least that was something.

“It isn’t the same thing.” Napoleon declared.

Illya sighed. “Not having a very special day are you, Cowboy?”

Napoleon laughed but something caught and bubbled in his throat.

“I’m having a fucking terrible day, Peril.” He agreed. Horrifyingly, a loan tear escaped and rolled down his cheek. Illya caught it with his thumb and wiped it away.

“Oh, Napoleon.” Illya’s expression was almost painful to look at it was so tender and open. Napoleon didn’t deserve it. He was much too resentful. He couldn’t even be happy for his friends.

“It’s alright. I’m asking for a transfer.” Napoleon said.

“You’re- what? Why?” Illya looked genuinely shocked, his big blue eyes widening with alarm.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Napoleon whispered, worried that his voice would break if he spoke any louder.

“Nothing is obvious with you. Think something is obvious one moment and the next is obscured. Have not been able to tell what you are thinking for days. Months.” Illya sounded sad.

 Napoleon’s heart gave a lurch. Perhaps it was better to be clear. Just for once, to get it all out in the open and show himself just how futile everything he had been dreaming of was. Illya would be disgusted with him of course but it didn’t matter. Napoleon would be on the other side of the world, lonely and miserable, but at least for once he would have been honest.

He caught Illya’s wrist and turned his face against Illya’s bare hand. He closed his eyes and pressed a single kiss to his skin, right in the centre of his palm.

He heard Illya suck in a breath as he wrenched his hand away. Napoleon didn’t open his eyes. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to be punched where the Major had struck him earlier, so he had fewer marks on his face or if it would hurt less to have Illya hit somewhere else.

He was rather surprised when he felt Illya’s hands on his upper arms, pulling him close. He was downright shocked when he felt Illya’s lips press softly against his. The pressure faded after a few seconds and Napoleon opened his eyes.

“Why did you stop?” he asked, amazed at how petulant he sounded.

“You want me to continue?” Illya asked, uncertainly.

Instead of replying, Napoleon hooked one of his arms around Illya’s neck and drew him in again. It was nothing like the chaste sad thing he’d bestowed on Illya or the hesitant kiss Illya had given him. He kissed Illya the way he’d wanted to kiss him since at least Istanbul. Since he’d first let himself become conscious of the fact he wanted Illya’s big hands on his skin, his breath in his mouth. Napoleon’s fingers danced across Illya’s jaw as he opened his mouth slightly and angled his head trying to deepen the kiss. Illya responded by catching Napoleon around the waist pulling him closer. Illya caught Napoleon’s bottom lip and worried it with his teeth. Napoleon groaned so loud he was worried they might hear him at the Castle.

The Castle. THRUSH. The mission.

Reluctantly, Napoleon began to gentle the kiss. Or at least he tried to, Illya wasn’t letting him go easy.

“Peril,” Napoleon said against Illya’s lips, eventually, “we’re supposed to be working.” He pulled back a little and looked down at his partner. Somehow he’d ended up straddling Illya’s lap, his knees either side of Illya’s thighs as they both kneeled in the snow. 

Illya smiled at him. “Since when do you have work ethic?” He kissed Napoleon’s jaw and Napoleon decided that they were going to have get up off the ground immediately or they weren’t going to be getting up at all.

Napoleon unenthusiastically slid off Illya’s lap and then heaved himself up out of the snow. Illya gazed up at him looking rather dazed.

“You going to stay there all day?” Napoleon asked ducking his head avoiding Illya’s intense study.

“Cowboy-” Illya began as he stood up. Napoleon wasn’t sure he wanted to hear what was coming next. He turned and headed for where the gun lay abandoned in the snow.

“We better take this shotgun back-”

“For love of God, Cowboy, will you stop being so terrified of me?” Illya asked.

Napoleon turned around.

“What?”

“Well. Perhaps you are not terrified of me more what I will say.” Illya walked towards him and took Napoleon’s hands in his own.

“I’m- I’m not scared.” Napoleon lied. His heart was hammering in his chest.

“Really? Are braver than me. Gaby tells me is time I talked to you.”

“Gaby.” Napoleon repeatedly, flatly.

“Yes. Gaby. Our friend.” Illya emphasised.

“But- you and her. You can’t tell me that I’m crazy that was a- a thing.” Napoleon insisted.

Illya shrugged. “Know what am supposed to do when there is pretty girl in front of me, Cowboy. Pretend to be too enamoured to touch her. Is handy.”

Napoleon couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He’d been there, he’d _seen_ Illya’s interest in Gaby.

“You- but- in Rome-”

“Yes, Rome. Did not know what to do when handsome man is thrown in my path.” Illya looked down at their joined hands. “Still don’t.”

“You don’t want her? You aren’t going to propose and- you don’t want her?” Napoleon clutched Illya’s fingers tighter.

“Want her as friend. Want you as lots of things. Not so friendly.” Illya actually looked shy.

“Oh.” Napoleon managed to say. His mind was reeling. His teeth were also chattering.

Illya let go of his hands. “Can talk about this later. Need to get you inside where it is warm.” He bent and picked up the shotgun. He hesitated for a moment and then took Napoleon’s hand again.

“Come on.” He said, gently pulling Napoleon back towards the house.

Napoleon tried to stop himself from becoming giddy but it was a losing battle. Illya had kissed him. Apparently he wanted to kiss him again. He couldn’t fight the urge to smile rather stupidly or squeeze Illya’s hand.

Illya let go as soon as they were in sight of the house which Napoleon supposed was safest. Sure everyone thought they were screwing each other, and, please God, perhaps now they actually _would_ be, but there was thinking something and having incontrovertible proof of it. Proof that eyewitnesses could tell the police, for instance.

He was just about to open his mouth to say something fatuous, when Napoleon saw that Illya’s attention had been caught by something straight ahead.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

“Elspeth is standing at library window.” Illya replied.

“Oh?” Napoleon marvelled at Illya’s eyesight.

“Yes- she isn’t looking outside. Is holding a red handkerchief behind her back.” Illya said. He gave Napoleon a sidelong glance.

“And you don’t think she’s a secret Communist holding her own private protest against the decadence of Christmas in the West?”

Illya gave him a thwarting look. “Think she is in danger.”

Napoleon sighed. What he wanted to do was take Illya up to the Red Room and give them both an early Christmas present. Or at least just get out of his damp trousers.

“Alright- so we go the long way around the house and approach from the other way?”

Illya nodded. “Library has lots of windows on that side.”

A few minutes later they were crouched underneath one of the large bay windows on the east side of the house that would give them a good view of what was happening in the room. Illya shifted and looked up, scanning the library in about three seconds before he hunkered back down. They both crawled back around the edge of the house, to where they wouldn’t be spotted through any of the windows.

“Tobias Eldon is holding everyone including staff hostage with gun.” Illya revealed.

“Tobias?”

Illya nodded.

Napoleon blinked. “Of course. The house in London- Francesca’s parents bought one.”

Illya frowned. “Then it is not his.”

“No but- you’ve met him. That man absolutely thinks that whatever is his future wife’s is also his.”

Illya mulled this over. “But why would THRUSH want him?”

Dawn broke over Napoleon’s mind. “They don’t! Illya that’s just it- he wants them. Caroline said that he met her would be handlers once. Supposing he figured out they were agents. You heard him yesterday talking about killing spies-”

Illya took over the narrative “He shot Michael Bennet. Saw man in woods and assumed he was spy-”

“Because he is the idiot we dismissed as! Illya- he’s our guy. Except he’s useless. He’s so useless I don’t think he even _knows_ he’s useless.” Napoleon grinned broadly.

Illya didn’t smile back. Instead he grabbed Napoleon’s hip, dragged him close and kissed him hard whilst pressing him back against the wall. Napoleon’s arms curled around Illya’s neck almost of their own accord. They broke away from each other after several minutes considerably more out of breath.

“That’s uh- probably not on the international guidelines for how to handle a hostage situation.” Napoleon said, smiling again.

Illya smiled back. “Should be.”

Napoleon bit back a groan. What he wouldn’t give to just to have five more minutes alone with Illya.

“So what is plan? I go in first you cover me?” Illya suggested.

Napoleon thought about it. “No- I think that maybe- Tobias is useless right? And thanks to his father he’s written us both off as a couple of limp wristed artistes, despite significant evidence to the contrary, at least where you’re concerned.”

Illya blushed a very attractive pink. “Thank you.”

“Welcome. So- how about I just blunder in there? Act all overcome and surprised. Distract him so much he even forgets that you exist and then bam- you come in and disarm him.” Napoleon suggested.

“’Bam’?” Illya asked his lips quirking.

“Yes you know. With all your KGB fury.” Napoleon said.

Illya’s amusement fell away. “Is too dangerous for you. What if he shoots you?”

“He won’t.”

“He killed Michael Bennet in cold blood.” Illya pointed out.

“Yes, but I bet he caught him unawares. This’ll work, Peril, trust me.” Napoleon said.

“I do.” Illya replied very sincerely.

It was Napoleon’s turn to flush red. “I trust you too. So I know you’ll have my back. It will be fine we’ll get everyone out safe- easy.”

Illya nodded. “Alright.”

It took Napoleon thirty seconds to break the lock on the French doors leading into the conservatory. He made a mental note to tell the Duke his security was a little lax. He and Illya made their way silently to the library doors.

Illya crouched down out of sight as Napoleon swung into the room.

“I’d wondered where everyone had gotten to- hey! What’s going on here?” Napoleon asked, as Tobias Eldon swung around and levelled his gun at his head.

Everyone in the room was in varying states of upset. Hugo sat with his arms around his mother whilst Elspeth gave him a mournful look from the window, believing her plan with the handkerchief to have failed.  The Jesmonds clutched each other on the love seat. Francesca looked bewildered and terrified as did the unfortunate members of staff. Caroline appeared as if she might sick and Doctor Ludgrove had a rather nasty gash on his forehead. Almost as if someone had coshed him with a handgun.

Tobias, though, was by far the most unhinged of the group. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair unkempt and his hands shook as he held the gun.

“Someone want to fill me in here?” Napoleon suggested.

“Shut up! I know what you are. It must be you and that Russian- I heard you. Out in the woods. Shooting at me!” Tobias roared.

Mrs Jesmond twitched.

“Uh- no? You doing alright Toby? You want to put the gun down?”

“Shut the hell up. I know your game. You’re a spy.” Toby’s eyes narrowed and he cocked the gun.

“Again- you want to explain this to me or-?”

Just then a strange noise began to fill the room. Napoleon realised it was the rotating blades of a helicopter.

Toby let out a whoop of laughter. “My reinforcements!”

Napoleon’s stomach plummeted. “Your what?”

Toby gave him a horrid, mad grin. “I telephoned for them this morning. Said that I had a couple of enemy spies that needed picking up. In less than a minute you and the Russian will either leave this house and go with them or I will let them raze it to the ground.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took them nearly 23k to kiss I'm so sorry.


	5. Chapter Five

‘Well, shit.’ Napoleon thought.

At least he’d managed to kiss Illya before he got himself murdered by a THRUSH team armed to the teeth with machine guns.

Illya. He would have heard all of Tobias’ spiel. Napoleon knew what the man would be doing: running silently through the house to get his assault rifle. The shotgun they had commandeered from Charlotte Jesmond would also be handy, but Illya’s rifle was much more accurate. If he stood at one of the second storey windows with a good view of the helicopter as it landed, he might be able to take out a few agents.

But they were isolated. Even if Illya telephoned for help there wouldn’t be enough time for anyone from UNCLE to save them. And he couldn’t envision the entire house party managing to successfully evacuate before the helicopter landed.

Tobias’s hands were still shaking on the gun, but he was smirking away at Napoleon, confident that his cavalry would soon be on their way. And there were other people in the room who might incur his wrath- better that Napoleon distract him, surely.

“So, Toby” Napoleon began, going out on a limb “just how many times have you applied for the Secret Intelligence Service?”

His guess was accurate and the barb hit its mark. Tobias’ ruddy face darkened.

“Shut up.”

“Because I know you can only apply once every couple of years. You probably started when you were sixteen, right? And I’m guessing you keep failing on aptitude. Probably physical fitness tests as well, those are gruelling.” Napoleon said apparently, carelessly.

The roar from the helicopter engine was increasing. Napoleon could hear the blades beginning to slow as the pilot steadily brought his craft down.

“You don’t know anything.” Tobias’ eyes were beginning to look deranged.

Napoleon smirked.

“Oh, I know a lot. I know that you have to pass a lot of tests if you can’t show enough natural talent. I know that they only take the best of the best and even then, some of the candidates don’t pass through training. And I know that they wouldn’t take on some jumped up public school boy whose Cold War paranoia makes him shoot any poor bastard he finds wandering the woods.”

“HE WAS A SPY!” Toby screeched.

There were a few startled gasps from around the room. At least Napoleon had gotten Toby to admit to the murder. The man seemed absolutely convinced that he had killed someone working against the organisation he desperately wanted to join.

Napoleon shook his head. “He was a small time private investigator working for a nightclub, pal. I doubt that was even his main job; he was probably just looking to make a little extra cash for Christmas. And you shot him in the head. That’s murder of an innocent citizen. You’re a disgrace.”

Tobias shook his head, beginning to look desperate. “I killed a spy- you are making this up- you’re working for the Russians-”

Napoleon laughed aloud. “You’re terrible at this aren’t you? No wonder THRUSH didn’t want to take you on- I mean. You knew that. They wanted Caroline’s intelligence, not your bullheadedness. So you offered them money, I guess? And the use of the townhouse in London, that I presume Francesca’s parents bought to ensure your marital bliss?”

Tobias’s attention swung towards his fiancé. She stared at him, her disgust clear on her face.

“I did it for you, Cesca.” Tobias insisted.

Francesca looked as if she wanted to vomit.

“You murdered someone, Toby! That poor man-”

“Don’t listen to him! He’s a spy, Cesca-”

“You just accused all of us of being spies, as well.” Elspeth pointed out.

“Seriously?” Napoleon asked.

Elspeth nodded. “Yes. Apparently even Hugo and Emmeline are in on it.”

“Shut the hell up!” Tobias swung the gun around to point it at Elspeth.

Elspeth, who was standing on the other side of the room from Napoleon. She widened her eyes and gave him the slightest nod.

He wasn’t exactly pleased about it, but Elspeth was being extremely brave and he wasn’t about to waste the opportunity.

Napoleon took his chance rushed forward and tackled Tobias around the waist bringing him to the ground in an undignified heap. Doctor Ludgrove sprung up and kicked at Tobias’ hand as he sprawled on the floor and the gun skittered away across the parquet. The pair of them pinned him to the floor quite easily despite Tobias’ protests.

“Thank you, Doctor.” Napoleon said.

“A pleasure.” The mild mannered Doctor replied.

“You’re idiots! My reinforcements are still coming. They’ll kill you all-”

“Shut your damned mouth.” Doctor Ludgrove said sharply.

Amazingly, Tobias did.

The ensuing silence in the room meant that they could all clearly hear the blades of the helicopter slowing to a stop. The Dowager peered out of the window.

“They’ve landed. What do we do Nathan?” She asked, her voice sounding less self-assured than usual.

Napoleon sighed. “Vitaly and I will give ourselves up. Hugo knows who to contact when we’re taken. You’ll be safe; we’ll make it part of our bargaining. Just do what they say- everything will be fine.”

“But what about you?” Caroline asked, her voice quavering.

He offered her a reassuring smile. “We’ll be OK.”

“They’ll kill you before you get very far. You know that don’t you? You and the Commie.” Toby piped up.

Napoleon resisted the urge to press his knee into Tobias’ spine.

Napoleon knew what his and Illya’s fate would be. They would either be taken to a base and tortured and killed or shot on sight. He had no doubt that THRUSH had files on them and knew of their previous exploits. God, they would probably get thrown out of the helicopter for some of the stunts they had pulled.

It was so deeply unfair. If he’d known all they would have together was twenty stolen minutes in a wood where they wouldn’t be able to do more than kiss, Napoleon would have jumped Illya months before.

Or perhaps it was for the best. Napoleon would probably only have messed things up between them, anyway.

Everything was still and extremely tense in the library, so when the first clip of gunfire from Illya’s rifle sounded, everyone jumped. Napoleon heard bullets rattle off metal. Illya was aiming for the helicopter fuel tank. A risky and probably futile plan but the best chance they had of taking out all the THRUSH agents in one go.

Illya. Napoleon hoped he would get to see him again. He hoped he would be able to say a proper goodbye.

The crackle of a loudspeaker blared across the garden and into the library. Someone was grumbling slightly, inches away from the mouthpiece. They were saying something which sounded suspiciously like ‘Have you got this bloody thing working yet? He’ll kill us all’.

Hope stirred and began to rise in Napoleon’s chest. He knew that voice.

There was another incredibly loud burst of static before the voice sounded again, much clearer this time.

“Before you can start picking us off, Kuryakin, be aware that this is your superior officer. If you kill me you’ll be permanently off my Christmas card list.” Alexander Waverly’s cut glass accent was distorted by the feedback from the helicopter’s speaker system, but it was undeniably the director of UNCLE.

“Oh, thank god.” Hugo said his shoulders sagging.

The Dowager clapped her hands and Elspeth sank into a chair.

“What’s happening?” asked one of the maids, who was still rather terrified.

“It isn’t Tobias’ back up, it’s ours.” Napoleon replied, grinning at her.

Tobias started struggling. “No- no, this isn’t right!” He wrenched himself upright, managing to throw a slightly off guard Napoleon to the ground. He started to make a mad scramble for the abandoned gun.

Fortunately, Doctor Ludgrove had been paying attention and he cracked Tobias soundly across the jaw. The younger man fell to the floor in a dead faint.

“Nice reflexes, Phil.” Elspeth remarked.

Doctor Ludgrove looked rather surprised at himself.

“Well, I-”

From across the house the sound of a gunshot rang out, echoing down the empty corridors. A second followed almost immediately.

Napoleon’s blood ran cold. He glanced around the room, but he already knew who was missing.

“Where’s the Major?” he asked, his stomach swooping horribly.

Hugo’s eyes widened. “We put him to bed after the incident in the library-”

“And suppose he awoke to find Illya upstairs with a gun?” he didn’t wait for an answer as he tore out of the library.

There was no doubt in his mind that the Major was absolutely the type of civilian to bring a gun with him to a house party. And Tobias must have learnt the’ shoot first ask questions later’ style of suspect detainment from somewhere.

He could picture the scene already. Illya, distracted by the sudden arrival of Waverly, unaware of the Major creeping up on him. The Major, taking a pot shot at Illya’s unguarded back, thinking he was doing something good and noble for his country by shooting an enemy spy…

Napoleon’s feet barely touched the stairs as he raced up them.

He found Illya on the landing, standing over the prone body of the Major. He glanced up at Napoleon and looked slightly sheepishly down at the old man.

“Might have hit him a little hard.” He conceded.

Napoleon could see a fairly large egg shaped bruise forming at the Major’s temple.

“Well. I guess I owed him one. So, he took a couple of shots at you?” Napoleon tried to keep his voice level.

“Yes- but he is not very good marksman. Lucky for me. Not so lucky for that painting.”

Illya pointed at one of the gilded frames next to the window where he had obviously been standing- his rifle was still mounted there. There was a sizeable hole in the canvas, right through the shoulder of the grim looking Carlton-Bellamy ancestor depicted. The oak panelled wall had also taken a battering from the gunfire, as wood splinters and plaster covered the floor.

Napoleon winced. “That’s a van Dyck.”

“Expensive?”

“Irreplaceable.” Illya tutted.

“Will put him in recovery position.” He crouched down next to the Major and started moving his arms and legs.

“You’re alright aren’t you? He didn’t hurt you.” Napoleon clarified.

His hands were shaking a little. If the Major had just been a little less drunk he would have managed to shoot Illya at very close range.

Illya looked up at him, frowning. “Yes, I am fine.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

Illya’s face softened and he stood up.

“Cowboy, are you-”

“Is everything alright up there?” called the Duke, from the entrance hall below.

“Everything’s fine.” Napoleon called back.

He’d break the news about the van Dyck later.

He turned back towards Illya who was still looking at him with his soft eyes. Napoleon wanted to drag him into a bedroom rather than deal with anything else happening in the house or the garden.

However, he could hear Waverly in the hall downstairs and it was pretty hard to ignore a helicopter in the sunken garden.

“Come on, we’d better go and explain ourselves.” Napoleon said, regretfully. They probably wouldn’t get another second to themselves for hours.

* * *

 

“We intercepted Mr Eldon’s telephone call and Ms Teller persuaded me that I should pay a visit.” Waverly explained.He took a sip from his teacup.

Napoleon, Waverly, and Illya had commandeered Hugo’s study to discuss the mission. Despite having been in a hostage situation barely an hour before, the kitchen staff had somehow gotten it together to provide them with tea and coffee, as well as a plate of petit fours. In that time Napoleon had finally managed to change out of his snow damp clothes and Illya had stowed his guns back in his armoury.

“So where are the THRUSH reinforcements?” Illya asked.

He was drinking from a large mug of coffee and leaning forward in his seat, as he tended to do when he was being debriefed.

Waverly nibbled the corner of a chocolate biscuit.

“Not coming. They told him on the telephone, which we had monitored, of course, the he should, in no uncertain terms, shove off. Seems that Eldon wasn’t convinced by that. No, you see, Ms Teller was more concerned that the pair of you would be trying to deal with an unhinged murderer rather than a spy and his back up, and that isn’t exactly either of your fortes. She also said that you might be somewhat distracted from the task in hand.” Waverly raised an eyebrow and glanced between them.

Napoleon kept his poker face whilst Illya took a gulp of coffee. Waverly dropped his eyebrow and picked up another petit fours.

“But, I can see that wasn’t the case. You handled it all rather well. Didn’t mean to alarm you both with the helicopter but, it really is a damned sight faster than driving on Christmas Eve. Even getting out of central London is an absolute nightmare, you would not believe the crowds on Oxford Street-”

“Sir,” Napoleon quite liked Alexander Waverly, as he had a marked tendency to treat his staff as human beings rather than utterly expendable pawns in International games, but he would also go off on tangents and talk for hours if one let him. “What are you planning to do with Tobias Eldon?”

“Oh. Well. He murdered Martin Bennet. For that he should face a life sentence in prison. And the man is obviously deranged to the point where even THRUSH won’t listen to him, so I’m not entirely sure he’s even our business. But we’ll take him in and hold him. Make him see how a real spy gets treated. ”

“And Caroline?” asked Illya.

“Yes, well, Ms. Eldon is of interest to us. I think it is clear now that she was who the original intelligence was referring to. I think this little event might persuade her to come and work for UNCLE, provided we offer to pay for her university education.” Waverly took another sip of tea, as if there was no doubt that the matter was settled.

Illya gave Napoleon a little smile over the rim of his coffee cup.

“That seems like the best idea.” Napoleon said.

Waverley finished his tea and put his cup and saucer down on Hugo’s desk.

“Right, gentlemen, I trust you can make your own way home.” He stood up. “Limited space in the helicopter, now we’re taking two extra passengers.”

“Two?” Illya asked, as they made their way out of the house.

“Major Eldon decided he would travel with his son. According to him, the pair of you staged the murder and have badly stitched poor Tobias up. When he found out we already had Tobias aboard, well- as you can see” Waverly explained, gesturing to the scene in front of them as they walked across the snow covered grass towards the helicopter.

Napoleon watched as a very red faced Major Eldon was manhandled on board by two rather harassed looking agents. He was still raving about something, but fortunately they were too far away to make out what he was saying.

“Also, the Dowager made it quite clear that he wasn’t welcome. Bringing shotguns into the house and shooting paintings, as well as having a murderer for a son have rather blotted his copy book.” Waverly said.

Illya winced, slightly. “Was unfortunate. The painting.”

“Well, she doesn’t blame you, Kuryakin. Everyone is very grateful. In fact, Hugo has asked you both to stay for Christmas.”

Illya glanced at Napoleon. For once, his rather open face was hard to read.

“Will go and speak with him. Happy Christmas, sir.”

“And to you too, Kuryakin.”

Illya gave both of them a small nod and then marched off across the frozen lawn.

“Perhaps he’s going to ask if you can all sing the State Anthem of the Soviet Union as well as carols tomorrow?” Waverly suggested, as they watched Illya leave.

“Perhaps.” Napoleon agreed, absently.

Waverly rubbed his hands together.

“I expect a full report in January, Solo.”

Napoleon blinked.

“January?”

“Yes. Rather a slow time of year this. Even THRUSH seems to be laying off the nefarious activities; I’ve got nothing lined up for you. May as well just enjoy your Christmas.”

“Oh. Thank you.” Napoleon replied.

“Ms. Teller sends her regards. She would have come up herself, but apparently there was a Christmas party where her attendance was required.” Waverly made a face.

Napoleon smiled. “Sounds like Gaby.”

“Indeed. Well,” Waverly held out his hand, surprising Napoleon, but he shook it nonetheless “Happy Christmas.”

The helicopter engine fired up, ruffling Napoleon’s hair and making him pull his coat tighter around his shoulders.

“Happy Christmas, sir. Safe journey.”

Waverly smiled and then frowned at something over Napoleon’s shoulder.

“I say- there’s a woman coming up the drive on cross country skis.” Napoleon turned to see a blonde woman bundled up in a large quilted coat, making her way steadily towards the house, seemingly oblivious to the helicopter.

“Looks like Anna decided to show up after all.” Napoleon said.

Waverly hummed slightly. “This is why I prefer the city to the countryside- much more peaceful.”

* * *

 

 Napoleon supposed that he should probably join the rest of the house party which had communed in the drawing room. After Elspeth had run out into the snow and practically knocked Anna off her skis as she hugged her, she had dragged her inside for a brandy. Napoleon had declined to join them.

Instead, he had slipped away to the relative peace of the Violet Suite in the ensuing kerfuffle of welcoming the new arrival. No one seemed to notice his desertion, but that was probably owing to the large, military grade helicopter taking off in the garden. That kind of thing wasn’t typically seen in Yorkshire on Christmas Eve outside of actual Air Force bases.

For some reason it didn’t sit quite right with him to insinuate himself back into the group now that they were aware that he wasn’t an underemployed artist enjoying a free ride in the country for Christmas. He marvelled at himself as he lay down on his bed- a few years ago he wouldn’t have thought anything of duping the aristocracy and making off with anything that wasn’t nailed down. Now he felt uncomfortable with the idea that he was expected to share a dinner table with people he had misled.

It was probably due to the influence of a very tall and conspicuously absent Russian. Illya had made him more honest in a great many ways and not just because he looked disappointed when Napoleon appraised paintings with a thief’s eyes. Illya forced him to be honest about his feelings which was a much more worrying concept altogether.

Before their trip north Napoleon could have dismissed his feelings for Illya as an inadvisable crush. He couldn’t do that anymore. He was in love with Illya and had been for a very long time. The horror he had felt when he thought that Illya had been killed by some trigger happy, bigoted lunatic was not something he wished to experience ever again.

But he would. They were spies. If having a crush on Illya was inadvisable being in love with him was nothing short of idiocy. They could be killed in any number of ways and if they were discovered their relationship could be used against them. The KGB would put a bullet in Illya’s brain if they got even an inkling-

Napoleon put his hands over his eyes. The obvious conclusion was that it simply couldn’t work between them. Their relationship was doomed and it was probably better if Napoleon ended it before it properly began. He swallowed down a lump that had formed in his throat. He wasn’t exactly known for thinking ahead or for wanting anything other than instant gratification. But Illya wasn’t going to get hurt because of him. And if that meant that Napoleon had to quash his own hopes for something more, then that’s what he would do.

The wardrobe rattled.

Napoleon sat up and glared at it. “Shut up.” He said.

The rattling intensified into a steady drumbeat against the wardrobe door.

“Look- I don’t believe in this you know.” He insisted nonsensically.

The door creaked open and slammed shut. Napoleon jumped. The ‘activity’, or whatever it was, hadn’t happened in daylight hours before and it was only just past three in the afternoon. It somehow made it far harder to dismiss.

“Stop it.” He said aloud, feeling foolish. The door opened and slammed again and then repeated the action over and over, gradually getting faster. The force that was being used was so violent that the wardrobe was actually beginning to rock from side to side, as if it suddenly might lurch forward and advance on where Napoleon was frozen on the bed.

Enough was enough. Napoleon sprang to his feet and sprinted through the adjoining door into the Red Room. He had barely gotten his breath back whilst leaning against the firmly shut door when Illya walked in through the other entrance. He gave Napoleon a bright smile which dimmed as he noticed Napoleon’s distress.

“Are you O.K, Cowboy?” He asked.

Napoleon shook his head. He could still hear the banging and slamming in the other room. God only knew how he was supposed to sleep in there that night. It wasn’t as if Illya would want him to stay after Napoleon broke it to him that it wouldn’t work between them.

“Your spirit is angry.” Illya said, with a frown.

“It isn’t a ghost.” Napoleon insisted.

There was a muffled thump as if someone had thrown a heavy book on the floor. Illya raised his eyebrows. Napoleon rolled his eyes.

“Please can we not go over this again- ghosts don’t exist. Men with guns and bombs and nasty plots exist. Poisons and torture chambers exist. The nuclear fucking threat exists, can we please just be scared of things that there is actual, empirical evidence for?” Napoleon hadn’t noticed that his voice was steadily rising until he heard it ringing off the walls of the Red Room.

 Illya blinked at him.

“What is wrong, Cowboy?” he asked in a soft voice.

Napoleon sighed. “I just- today has been a lot Illya and I think that maybe we lost our heads a little.”

Illya folded his arms across his chest.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean- today was good. We stopped the bad guys and no one died. I mean, apart from Michael Bennet but we couldn’t have stopped that- but we’re not going to have a lifetime of days like today are we? Things are going to be hard and this-” he gestured between them “is only going to make it harder.”

Illya’s frown was back in full force.

“Don’t understand.”

Napoleon rubbed his eyebrow. “I’m trying to say- Illya, it’s bad enough that you get shot at when you’re my good pal and comrade, what the hell am I supposed to do when we’re something more and someone tries to kill you?”

Illya was silently regarding Napoleon, with a wary expression on his handsome face.

“You think it will be easier if we do not pursue relationship.” He declared after a moment, in a leaden tone.

Napoleon nodded, not trusting himself to open his mouth.

“I see.” Illya said, in the same flat voice. He sat down on the bed.

Another crash came from the Violet Suite. Napoleon tried to ignore it. Illya didn’t seem to hear it all.

“So- think you can just turn off feelings?” Illya asked, gazing at his own feet.

“No. No, I can’t do that but I think if we don’t act on them then they’ll fade. Maybe. I don’t know. ” Napoleon wasn’t sure that was true at all and judging by the look Illya flicked at him he didn’t agree either.

“Have not been acting on my feelings for a very long time and they have not gone away.” He said.

Napoleon’s head hurt and all he wanted to do was curl up on Illya’s lap. But he had to persevere.

“Suppose the KGB found out you were sleeping with a man, Peril? How do you think that would go down?” Napoleon posited.

Illya stood up and glared at him.

“How would they find out?”

“Jesus, Peril, people talk? Most of this house party thinks we’re fucking each other. Someone would find out and then they’d kill you.” Napoleon’s voice was becoming hoarse.

“We will be careful.” Illya said, defiantly.

“We’re spies- I mean, this was an easy case and we both still could have died. What about when we get back out there in the real world where the murderers are competent?” Napoleon asked.

“Would do anything to protect you.” Illya declared.

Napoleon’s chest ached as Illya stood in front of him, looking heartbreakingly earnest.

“I- yes, I know that. But that isn’t-”

“And you have done a great many dangerous things in the past to keep me safe.” Illya pointed out.

Napoleon could hardly deny that was true. From that first instance of driving a van into the Vinceguerra’s harbour in Rome he’d been throwing himself into danger to save Illya’s life.

“Yes- but this is different.”

“How?” Illya asked.

Napoleon threw his hands in the air. “It just is! This is more a lot more dangerous.”

Illya let out an irritated huff. “So you will worry for me less if we are not romantically involved? Because that has not been case for me.”

Napoleon sighed. “It’s- it will just be really difficult Illya. And what if- what if we start this and then months down the line you decide that you don’t want this?”

That was what Napoleon was most concerned with. Supposing that Illya was merely infatuated with Napoleon and his interest faded after a couple of weeks? Napoleon would much rather give up a chance of a relationship than lose Illya altogether.

“That won’t happen.” Illya said firmly taking a step towards Napoleon.

“How do you know?”

Illya rolled his eyes.

“Because I have been in love with you for very long time and do not think that spending more time with you will make me love you less.”

Napoleon blinked up at Illya.

“You love me?” Napoleon knew he sounded like a dazed idiot, but his brain had stalled at Illya’s first declaration, and given up altogether at his second.

Illya smiled, slightly.

“Yes. Very much.”

Illya took Napoleon’s hand in his own and his expression became more serious.

“Am not going to force you into anything. If you truly do not wish to pursue this then cannot make you.”

It occurred to Napoleon that it was probably about time that he did something other than gape at Illya like a particularly stupid beached fish.

“I think this is a terrible idea.” Napoleon said, before his brain could fully process what his mouth was saying.

Illya’s face fell and he started to let go of Napoleon’s hand. Napoleon grabbed at his arm wildly, stopping him from turning away.

“But everything from the minute we met has been a terrible idea. It really has. Working together? I bet you wanted to strangle me those first couple of missions.” Napoleon smiled up at Illya, his heart lifting.

It shouldn't change things, but knowing that Illya loved him somehow changed everything. It would be far easier to turn down a brief affair, but to push away a declaration of love from Illya, who Napoleon had so clearly loved for such a very long time, would be just as foolish as what he was about to suggest. And at least this way they would have a chance at being happy.

“What are you saying?” Illya asked, his expression becoming hopeful once more.

“It being a bad idea hasn’t stopped us before.” Napoleon said, realising how true it was.

Illya’s smile was tentative but genuine.

“You want to try?”

Napoleon nodded. “But it isn’t going to be easy you know. We’ll have to be really careful and limit the amount of people we tell. And we can’t risk fraternising on missions and we have to-”

Illya pulled Napoleon close and kissed him. He stroked his thumb across Napoleon’s cheekbone.

“Is all very true, Cowboy. However- mission is over. Is Christmas. Can you- how do you say ‘loosen up a little’?” Illya smiled down at him.

Napoleon tried to glare at Illya but it didn’t work; he felt much too happy. In fact he was practically giddy with the feeling. Illya had said he loved him and the knowledge was overriding all of his self-preservation.

“Fine- but we need to talk about all of this.”

“Agree with you. Is very important. Do not want to put you in danger. But- we are not in danger now.” Illya pointed out.

“No, we aren’t.” Napoleon agreed. They were also on their own in a bedroom and about half a house away from anyone else. He started to pull Illya towards the bed.

“Not here.” Illya said, shaking his head gently pulling his hand from Napoleon’s own. Napoleon stopped short.

“No?” he asked.

Illya smiled at him and shook his head again.

“Oh.”

Napoleon tried not to feel too disappointed. He supposed it was only fair. They had only had their first kiss a few hours ago. Illya was obviously the type who wanted a longer period of courtship before he embarked on anything more physical. Napoleon could wait- it wasn’t as if it was biologically imperative that he and Illya have sex immediately. He would wait as long as Illya needed.

Illya suddenly burst out laughing.

“Cowboy- your face.”

Napoleon frowned at him.

“What about my face?”

“Look as if I suggested you have ice bath.” Illya looked inordinately amused.

Napoleon nearly bit out that Illya may as well have done- a cold shower wasn’t so very different from an ice bath, after all.

“It’s- alright, I’m not exactly thrilled by the prospect, which isn’t very chivalrous of me. But I’ll wait- obviously I’ll wait.” Napoleon affirmed.

Illya still looked amused.

“Can you wait half an hour?”

“What?” Napoleon asked, extremely confused.

“Is probably how long it will take you to pack and for us to go where I have planned.” Illya explained.

“You- we’re leaving? But the Dowager wants us to stay for Christmas dinner.”

“We’ll be here for Christmas dinner.” Illya said.

“But-”

“The sooner you pack the less time we will have to wait.” Illya pointed out.

Napoleon glared at him. It was obvious that Illya intended for their destination to be a surprise.

“Fine.” He said, turning on his heel.

The Violet Suite was completely still as he entered. He really hoped that Illya wouldn’t comment.

“The ghost has calmed down.” Illya declared, as he pulled Napoleon’s dinner jacket out of the wardrobe.

“There was never a ghost.”

Illya’s little smile hadn’t faded. Napoleon was rather embarrassed to find that he really liked how smug looked on Illya. Napoleon continued packing as Illya mused.

“Is interesting how the Dowager told the story about how the poltergeist targets those with unrequited loves-”

“It’s claptrap.” Napoleon interjected.

“-and now your room is quiet.” Illya carried on, regardless.

Napoleon folded a pair of trousers and put them in his case.

“You know you really should speak to Dr Ludgrove about causation vs correlation, Peril. It’ll stop you attributing meaning to random events.” Napoleon picked up his washbag and placed it alongside the book he was reading before snapping his case shut.

Illya smiled at him and picked up Napoleon’s easel and sketchpads.

“Bet you are glad not to have to spend the night in here.”

Napoleon grinned at him.

“I’m deliriously happy.” He said and found that he meant it.

Illya blushed a very fetching pink and turned to leave the room.

“We take backstairs, Cowboy,- assume you don’t want more delays.” He said, pushing the bedroom door open.

Napoleon picked his case up off the bed and hastened to follow Illya.

As he did so, however, something in the corner of his vision shifted and twitched suggesting the movement of a long old fashioned skirt. For a second he caught the strong, cloyingly sweet scent of violets- an absurd thing to smell in the depths of winter. And he thought that perhaps, just perhaps, a young woman might be laughing merrily in the corner of the room. As he turned to face her fully the sensation faded. It was similar to the feeling when someone pulled a window shut against the breeze. It wasn’t as if the impression of her was completely gone, but it had become far less tangible and more so by the second.

“Cowboy?” Illya called from the landing.

“Coming.” Napoleon replied.

Illya strode off down the hall as Napoleon headed towards the door. He turned back before he pulled the door shut behind him.

Feeling more than slightly ridiculous he addressed the corner of the room, quietly.

“Thanks, I guess.” He managed.

He shut the door on the sound of gentle laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot points nearly all wound up! You know what's coming next. Sorry about the fact I need thirty thousand words plus to reach the part where they actually get it on but you know.  
> Thanks for your comments and your patience! xoxox


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